Choices and Consequences
by AngelsShadow816
Summary: After the almost wedding, Marian makes a decision that could endanger her and the life of one of the outlaws.  Meanwhile, Robin and the others are tied up, literally, at camp, facing a new enemy. RobinMarian, some WillDjaq.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Hmm, well, obviously, I don't own anything … just having a bit of fun until the new season starts.

**Author's note**: I guess I just want to say that I enjoy reading fanfic, but I've never really written all that much of it. I wrote a little Buffy fanfic a few years ago on another site, but that was the extent of it. At the moment, the fiction writing process has me banging my head against a brick wall (which hurts), so I figured I'd try this out to clear my head, keep writing, and forget about my own characters and plotlines for awhile. Compared to other really wonderful stories I've read on this site in the Robin Hood section, I think my characterizations stink … really. And I'm a little nervous about posting this. As I said, fanfic just isn't something I've done a lot of.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Why did you do it?"

"You're not safe here. Once the Sheriff and Gisborne sort things out at Nottingham, they will come for you."

"Robin," Marian as she closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the impulse to tell him she didn't really care. It was just easier to stay, to do her duty, if they argued. "Why can you not answer one question? Why is that so difficult for you?"

Robin sighed, glancing away, and Marian could tell his patience was wearing. Good. Right now, this was what she wanted because it made her think with her head and not her heart. After the day she had, it would be all too simple to drop any pretense of loyalty to the Sheriff and run off into Sherwood with Robin.

"What does it matter?" Robin asked. "I'm here now. What happened then … it does not matter. But we have to think about what happens now. While I am more than happy with the outcome, you punched Gisborne and left him at the altar. Do you think that is something he will take lightly?"

"I am well aware of what happened. I _was_ there. But I can handle Guy, Robin. He lied to me about the King's return. I will use that to justify what I did. I cannot leave my father. You know that."

"Guy."

"Oh, Robin, grow up," Marian said, recognizing the spark of jealousy.

"I'm being realistic."

"You're being jealous," Marian returned.

"You cannot just explain this to him," Robin said, trying now to reason with her. But she didn't need him to spell it out for her. She was well aware of the situation and the probable consequences. Robin continued, "Do you honestly think Gisborne will understand everything that happened today? Do you think he'll accept his lies as the reason you punched him and ran off with me? Because maybe he did not see it, but you can believe someone told him. How will you explain that to _Guy_? If you think you can, you're a fool."

He was getting frustrated, angry. "Well, I am so glad you think so," Marian said.

Robin threw up his hands and turned away. He walked a few paces before turning back. "Fine. Believe what you want about Gisborne. Believe that you can find some good in him when there is nothing good to be found."

"I do not think –"

"But you will be putting my men in danger when I have to come rescue you. Again," Robin added for emphasis.

"Why are you doing this? Why can't you just accept –"

"Because you aren't making any sense! Things can_not_ just go back to being how they were. I thought we were past all this."

"All of this arguing because you cannot answer one silly little question," Marian said. "Why is that so difficult for you?"

"Would it make a difference if I did?" Robin demanded. "Would it make a difference if I brought up the past? I cannot change the decision I made. Why is it so important you hear why I did it?"

"I begged you not to go," Marian replied quietly. "I made a fool of myself in front of you, and you said nothing. If I follow you into the forest, if I renounce everything I've ever known to become an outlaw, how do I know it will not happen again when you won't give me a reason?"

"Is that what all this is about? I will not leave you again, Marian. I made that mistake once. I will not do it again." Robin paused, studying her face. Marian didn't know what he was looking for, but he seemed to have found it. "But that isn't what this is really about, is it? You're running me around in circles, asking me questions you really don't want the answers to. You are hiding behind an excuse to stay here, to make it easier for you to stay here."

Maybe they'd been apart for five years, and maybe he hadn't shown quite this much insight since his return. She'd tried to forget the years before he took up the cross and followed King Richard to another world. Maybe she'd forgotten too much. When he tried, Robin always knew her better than she gave him credit for.

Marian drew in a steadying breath, and she folded her arms across her chest to hide the trembling of her hands. "Much as you'd like to think this is all about us or you – that it's always about you – it isn't, and you know that. I have to consider my father. After today, he's in enough trouble. If I run off, the Sheriff will know where I've gone. My father's situation will become more precarious if I just leave."

"Your life is in jeopardy. Not your father's."

"Robin," Marian murmured, tired of living between two worlds, tired of being torn between her love for this man and her love for her father, tired of everything. "I have to stay here. I have to think of someone other than myself."

"That's right," Robin said. "That's all I do, isn't it? Think of myself?"

"Robin, please," Marian said, exasperation making her voice desperate. "I didn't mean it like that, and you know it. I only meant that I have to be here for my father. Would you have made the choices you made if your father were still here?"

"If my father were still here, I would not have been forced to make the choices I made."

And suddenly, somehow, Marian realized Robin wasn't referring to his choice of defying the Sheriff and escaping to Sherwood. He was talking about his choice to join King Richard in the Holy Land, forced to escape from a responsibility he wasn't ready to accept when his father died. He panicked, so he ran. It was the reason Marian always suspected, but this was the closest he'd come to admitting it. Robin didn't admit weakness, he didn't admit doubt. Every decision he made was made with the confidence of a man born to lead.

"Robin …"

"There is nothing I can say that will change your mind?"

Marian bit her lip. More than anything, she wanted to run as fast as she could from all of this. She wanted to run from the uncertainty of what tomorrow would bring. In her heart, she knew nothing she could say would justify what she did today. But she was torn between two desires – protecting her father and being with Robin. And in the end, she had to stand by the man who'd never abandoned her, though it would be so simple to do just that. As foolish and as childish as that made her, she could not choose Robin over her father. Not now. Maybe not ever.

The past few days had been a whirlwind. She had almost died. She had almost been married. She had punched her husband-to-be and left Locksley in the arms of an outlaw. Much as she wanted to wrap her arms around Robin and never let go, she couldn't. If her father suffered in her absence, she could never forgive herself. If he faced the wrath of the Sheriff and Gisborne, she would face it with him. If she could prevent the disaster waiting to happen, she would. There was no other choice, only wishes for how things should be.

"Marian?"

She couldn't look at him, not at this moment because if she did, she'd lose. Glancing out at the forest, Marian tried to regain her resolve, her composure. She needed to keep her feet at Knighton Hall with her father. She needed to do her duty by the man who'd watched her break down when Robin left and who'd been there to comfort her when no one else was.

After a few moments, when the world felt right side up again and she felt her resolve wasn't in danger of crumbling, Marian looked at Robin. "I have made my decision."

Robin nodded, though Marian knew he didn't fully understand, but he couldn't stand here arguing with her all night. "I will never leave you to Gisborne or the Sheriff."

"I know that."

Reaching forward, Robin tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Going in different directions again?"

"For now," Marian whispered. She stepped into his arms, resting her head against his chest and fighting the urge to sob.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Much as I think Marian would like to run off with Robin at this point, I just can't see her leaving her father despite the consequences. Plus, I wouldn't have a story if she did run off with Robin :) 

So anyway, reviews are welcome, of course. If you like it let me know, and hopefully I'll have an update up soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Well ... as far as I know, I still don't own anything.

**Author's Note: **Still a little unsure about writing fanfiction, but I'm enjoying myself. I'd like to thank MoonFey and Capt. Cow for taking the time to review ... my first two reviews ever on this site :) Your reviews are much appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"I'm not bein' funny but isn't your girl supposed to be with you?"

Robin walked through the camp, ignoring Allan and the others after his return from Knighton. He walked down over a small hillside, ending up at the foot of a stream. And he just stood there, staring at the water.

Robin didn't know how long he stood there before Much followed him. He didn't even have to look to know it was Much.

"Master?" he asked tentatively after a few silent moments of just standing idly by.

"Not now, Much."

Robin realized Much was only concerned, as he always was, but it wasn't just concern for Robin this time. He didn't have to say it for Robin to know he was worried about Marian and why she wasn't here as everyone expected.

Maybe he needed to, but Robin didn't want to talk about it. It was enough the outlaws realized Marian wasn't there nor was she coming. He didn't want to discuss the whys of it, not even with Much because the truth was, Robin wasn't even sure he understood the whys of it.

The Sheriff could guess, but he'd never know what testimony Edward would've given. The Sheriff had nothing against Edward, and he couldn't risk the outrage by trying or hurting Edward without any real evidence. If the Sheriff thought the nobles were turning against him now, it would only get worse if he lashed out against Edward without proof.

So no, the Sheriff had nothing on Edward. But Marian … he already suspected Marian of sympathizing with Robin, which was why she'd been forced to agree to a marriage with Gisborne in the first place. Now, she no longer had Gisborne's protection. While Robin was thrilled, that had been before Marian staunchly refused to leave her father and Knighton. After everything that happened, Robin was so certain she'd agree her leaving was for the best.

Perhaps he'd eventually have to explain his choices to her. As it was, only Much saw and knew the panic Robin had felt when he'd lost his father and the responsibility of Locksley and its people fell heavily on his shoulders. And Much was wise enough not to discuss it.

But that wasn't the reason - that was just Marian's excuse, her defense. Of course Robin could understand Marian's devotion to her father. He wasn't so self-centered to think Marian's world and affections revolved around him alone. Though, at the moment, he almost wished they did because then she would be here and not at Knighton where she was open bait for the Sheriff and Gisborne. Now wasn't the time to think of her father, and Robin was certain, if he had the chance to speak with Edward, Edward would agree.

"I will never understand women, Much," Robin said finally.

"But she cannot stay at Knighton."

"That is what I told her."

"But you argued."

Robin folded his arms across his chest, never glancing over at Much, but he shook his head with a small, disbelieving smile. Much knew him too well. "There was some arguing, yes. I may have called her a fool … and accused her of putting my men in danger when we had to rescue her again."

Maybe Much wanted to say something to that. In fact, Robin was quite sure he did, but he held his tongue and simply said again, "She cannot stay there."

"I know that," Robin said. "But short of knocking her out and carrying her away in the middle of the night, there is nothing I can do. Her decision is made."

"Well maybe … maybe you ought to. Gisborne … the Sheriff … she is not safe. Surely even her father would see that."

"So then, I have your blessing to knock Marian over the head and drag her into the forest?" Robin grinned, finally looking over at Much. "While the idea might be appealing, I do not think Marian would see it that way."

"Well you might find a more … delicate way of going about it."

"Are we discussing the same Marian?"

"Right," Much said after considerable thought. "Then what are we going to do?"

With a sigh, Robin shook his head. "Wait, watch … keep her safe the only other way I can."

_If_ he could keep her safe while she remained at Knighton. Robin didn't voice that opinion. He couldn't even put that into words. He'd nearly lost her twice in as many days – once to death and once to Gisborne. The thought of losing Marian again … Robin closed his eyes. He wouldn't think about that. He couldn't think about that.

* * *

Djaq watched Much disappear after Robin. Maybe everyone else had the same question, but it was silently accepted that Much would be the one to ask that question. Much understood Robin best and matters like this were better left to the former manservant. No one argued that point. 

Poking a stick at the dying embers of the fire, Djaq broke the silence first. "Why do you think she is not here?"

"Because women are …" Allan's voice trailed off when Djaq shot him a dark look. "Sorry, Djaq. Uh, because _most_ women, present company definitely _not_ included, are bloody daft. No use trying to figure them out. You'll go crazy that way. Love women and all, but their minds just don't work right. Everything's complicated … can't just answer yes or no. They gotta say everything in between."

Djaq exchanged a glance with Will. She had to bite back a smile when Will shrugged and shook his head, but Djaq knew they were both wondering the same thing. _Who_ was Allan talking about? At the end, Allan sounded as if he was almost talking to himself, and it certainly wasn't about Robin and Marian.

Well, that was interesting.

"That was helpful," John commented before Djaq could think further on that. No one could mistake the sarcasm in his voice.

"She can't leave her father," Will said before Allan could open his mouth.

Djaq frowned. Of course that made sense, but it didn't. "Her father did not testify, did he?"

"No," Will replied. "Robin got there before Marian's father could."

"Nothing but trouble," John said. "She'll find nothing but trouble staying at Knighton. And we'll have to go to Nottingham … again."

"Nothing new there," Allan pointed out. "We always end up at Nottingham. It's like a second home to me. Maybe once all this is said and done, I'll see about moving in there. The time we got lost – that tower room had a nice view."

"That view was the kitchen girl tossing out the garbage," Will said.

Allan smiled. "Yeah, nice view all the same."

Djaq shook her head. Apparently, Allan was over whatever memory sparked his earlier comments. For the few times she'd actually seen Allan quiet or contemplative, it never took him long to snap out of it. That was just his nature.

Silence fell over the group once more as Djaq looked over to where Robin and Much had disappeared. She thought about the past few days and realized Robin wasn't likely to rejoin camp anytime soon. She'd seen Robin's reaction to Marian's "death" and near marriage to Gisborne – they all had. If that was any indication, she could only imagine what Robin was thinking now. He was facing the thought of losing her again, and how many times could he almost lose her before it happened for good?

Still, perhaps they were all overreacting to the situation. Maybe Marian would be perfectly fine remaining at Knighton. After the Sheriff's latest scheme – introducing the nobles to a King Richard imposter – would he be so quick to lash out? Or would he lay low for a few weeks at least? It was difficult to tell with him, really. Of course, there was always Gisborne to consider. The scorned bridegroom.

"Do you really think the Sheriff or Gisborne would hurt Lady Marian?" Djaq asked.

"Neither one's got a conscience," Allan said. Propped back against the thick base of an oak, his arms folded, Allan never opened his eyes. "So … yeah."

"You can at least be sure they'll use her against Robin now," John said.

"The Sheriff may have suspected before, but now they know," Will added.

"Girl's worried about protecting her father," Allan said, finally opening his eyes again. "What about us? It'll be our necks when she ends up in Nottingham's prison. Don't see her none too worried about that, do you? She could've made it right easier on us by coming here. Bloody women. Sorry, Djaq."

John muttered something that sounded like an agreement, which shocked Djaq. Even more astonishing was the fact Will looked embarrassed, as if he wanted to agree but couldn't believe he would actually agree with such a callous assessment.

"You cannot really believe that," Djaq said to the three of them, but her glare was for Will alone. He flushed and looked away.

"Now, Djaq," John said with a sigh. "We aren't saying that to be unkind. There isn't a one of us who won't be there to save her if she needs saving. There isn't one of us who won't face everything the Sheriff can throw at us to save her. But Allan has a point, for once."

"Well, I do hope you share your opinion with Robin," Djaq replied.

"Djaq," Will said. She looked at him expectantly, waiting to hear his explanation. Besides Much, Djaq had come to expect Will to be a little more sensitive, a little more thoughtful. To hear Will agree with Allan and John on this was disappointing. And it bothered her that it was disappointing because she'd come to view Will a little bit differently than the rest of the gang, and that was something she just really didn't want to contemplate at the moment. So, she waited for Will to say what he wanted to say. "I … well, uh … you know … it's … Djaq, it's just …"

By now, Djaq noticed Allan staring at Will with his eyebrow raised and a faint grin lingering at the corners of his mouth. "Well, spit it out, mate."

"Well, it is frustrating," Will finally managed to say. "I mean, I can understand Lady Marian's loyalty to her father. I think we all can. But she isn't thinking about the consequences. John's right. None of us would leave her to the Sheriff or Gisborne, but Allan's right too. She isn't thinking about the danger she's putting us in, especially Robin."

"Perhaps she does not think there will be consequences," Djaq said. "Or perhaps she is brave enough to face those consequences alongside her father without expectation of rescue. We know we would not think twice about rescuing her, but maybe, in her mind, she does not expect us to. She made her choice, and she will see it through no matter the consequences." Djaq paused, watching as the three men looked at each other but remained quiet. "Besides," Djaq continued, "we would not leave anyone behind. Why should we expect her to leave her father behind?"

After a few moments, John said, "Then it's settled. I take back what I said earlier about Allan making a good point for once. Djaq made a better point."

"Well, you can't take it back," Allan replied. "You said it, and we all heard it, so there is no taking it back."

"Strange," Djaq murmured, biting back a smile, "but I do not remember John saying anything like that. Do you, Will?"

Will grinned. "No, not that I can recall. You must've been dreaming, Allan."

"Right, well if I was dreaming, I can tell you, you three certainly wouldn't have been there. I see enough of you lot during the day. Hardly need to be dreaming about you at night."

Djaq, Will, and John laughed, and even Allan smiled at that. Djaq reflected it was good to have something to laugh about again. After the past few days and knowing the future was anything but bright, they all deserved a laugh once in awhile.

Then, Will and Allan's grins faded abruptly, and Djaq looked over her shoulder to see Robin and Much had returned.

"We need to move camp," Robin announced unceremoniously.

"What?" John asked. "Robin, it's the middle of the night."

"And we have no idea how long the Sheriff will wait," Robin replied. "We need to be closer to Knighton. I want a rotating watch on Knighton Hall. We will go in pairs. Much and I will take the first watch."

Djaq noted Robin appeared strained, and she briefly wondered how much longer he could stand this. The past few days had been hardest on him, which was why she suspected no one, not even Allan, offered anymore protests. Instead, they gathered up their belongings as quickly as possible and followed Robin.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, again, reviews are welcome and appreciated. I do think I'm going to have to go back and watch my copy of the first season because for some strange reason, I can remember everyone else's voice, but when I wrote dialogue for Little John, I kept hearing Gibbs' voice from Pirates of the Caribbean ... odd, that. Right, well, anyway, that's my weird side note for the day. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **If I ever find out I own it, I'll be the first to let you know.

**A/N: **I had a really difficult time with this chapter because next to Allan, I think the Sheriff is incredibly hard to write for. I'm not exactly the best at being witty, sarcastic, or amusing. Aside from that, it was just one of those chapters where no matter how you change it, you're still not happy with it. Hopefully it's not too crappy. I'll keep my fingers crossed.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The Sheriff drummed his fingers on the desk, more than put out by today's turn of events. As always, Hood found a way to foil his best plans. And not only had the Sheriff's brilliantly laid plan for exposing traitors been thwarted, but Hood had the audacity to hang him from the ceiling by his own shoe. No doubt, the man made life entertaining – made things a challenge. But Vasey was over the challenge. Right about now, a boring, Hood-free life looked very appealing indeed.

Still, at least the Sheriff could delight in Gisborne's embarrassment. Not only had Marian left Gisborne rather abruptly at the altar – oh no, no, no. According to local information, she left Gisborne for Hood, which came as no great surprise to the Sheriff. As he glanced at the ugly bruise darkening Gisborne's cheek, Vasey couldn't hide the amused, almost childish glee over Gisborne's predicament. He smiled.

"A groom without his bride," Vasey taunted. "How _very_ sad. And they say the pretty bride ran off with Hood?" Vasey _tsked_. "How humiliating for you. But come now, Gisborne, surely you didn't think she actually wanted you?"

Gisborne shifted and glanced away from Vasey for a second before meeting his eyes again. "I had thought … well, what I thought hardly matters now, does it?" He looked utterly defeated. This was too rich.

"Oh," Vasey laughed, clapping his hands together, "so you did, didn't you? You actually thought you'd charmed the lady away from the outlaw?"

Gisborne clenched his jaw but otherwise remained quiet.

"Hmm, well," the Sheriff said, and he was disappointed Gisborne didn't rise to the bait. "Your misfortune and broken heart is my gain. As it is, I have no evidence against Edward. No, but I have Marian. Killing two birds with one stone, wouldn't you say, Gisborne?"

"She would've run off with Hood by now," Gisborne muttered.

"Lovesick over a girl you know nothing about. A clue? No. First thing tomorrow morning, Gisborne, we'll pay a visit to Knighton Hall. I will simply _love_ to see how she tries to talk her way out of this one. She can't very well agree to marry you again, now can she?"

"You're wrong," Gisborne said as the Sheriff stood and brushed past him.

"Hmm, really?" Vasey asked as he turned back slowly to face Gisborne again. "Care to make a little wager on where your almost bride's deepest loyalties lie?"

* * *

Will Scarlett crouched in the underbrush, his eyes never leaving Knighton Hall. Robin hadn't explained much after his announcement that they were moving camp last night. In fact, he hadn't said another word, but it was enough that everyone realized Lady Marian wasn't with him. She was still at Knighton with her father. After yesterday's events, retribution from the Sheriff wouldn't be long in coming, and the Sheriff would strike at the easiest target: Lady Marian. Until that time, Robin wanted a rotating watch on Knighton Hall. 

Which was why he and Allan had been crouched in the weeds at the edge of Sherwood Forest since shortly after sunrise, simply watching and waiting.

After Will and Allan arrived at the lookout, Much almost literally dragged Robin back to camp, complaining how his master needed food. Will figured Much also meant Robin needed sleep, but Much had simply said, "What good will you be to her on an empty stomach?"

Well, that was Much. Food was the essential thing, first and foremost above everything else. Right now, Will counted sleep as first and foremost on his list of priorities. He expected Allan would to as, over the course of the morning, Will had to shove Allan more than once to keep the outlaw from dozing off. No one really slept after relocating camp last night.

"Women," Allan muttered, picking at the blades of grass in front of him. "He should've tossed her over his shoulder and carried her back to camp. It's what I would've done … saved us a lot of trouble too."

Maybe. They'd had a similar conversation the night before concerning Marian's decision to remain at Knighton. And, in fact, he and Allan already had the same discussion twice since sunrise, once during the walk here to relieve Robin and Much and once during the time they'd been here. From the sound of it, Allan was ready to have the same conversation for a third time.

Though Will had been hesitant to discuss the ramifications of Marian staying at Knighton while Djaq was glaring at him (because having her angry or disappointed with him just wasn't something he wanted), a large part of him agreed with Allan. This was not a good situation for anyone involved, especially Robin. Still, Will suspected Lady Marian would never forgive Robin if he took Allan's suggestion and hauled her off into the forest. Everyone knew Marian couldn't leave her father, and Djaq had certainly reinforced that understanding in all of them with her speech. If Robin loved Marian, which no one doubted, he had to respect that even if he couldn't or didn't want to understand it.

Of course, the alternative was leaving her to the Sheriff and Gisborne.

"I'm not bein' funny, but the girl's not right," Allan continued when Will didn't attempt to offer anything to the conversation. "What does she think? That she can talk her way out of punching Gisborne and running off with Robin? Even I couldn't talk my way out of that one."

_Not that it would stop you from trying_. "She loves her father," Will replied.

"Yeah, but she loves Robin too, doesn't she?"

"It's not that simple," Will said. Because nothing could be simple for them. Where would the challenge be in that? Sometimes, Will figured he could do without the challenge.

"The way I see it, it is. I mean, the Sheriff's got nothing on Marian's dad, right? And he can't catch Robin if Robin tied his self up and sat on the Sheriff's doorstep. But he's got what he wants now. He's got a way to get both of them. She might as well tie a bow around her neck. She couldn't make it any easier for the Sheriff."

Will wished he could've written down the talk he had with Allan earlier. He was certain Allan just repeated himself word for word. But he was tired, so instead of pointing that out, Will just said, "I'm sure Robin understands that."

"Yeah?" Allan asked. "If he did, he wouldn't have come back to camp without her. Well, here, maybe we could just nab Marian? Then she couldn't blame Robin."

Will shot Allan a look. He wondered if lack of sleep was finally affecting Allan because that was about the most ridiculous thing he ever heard. "Right. Of course she couldn't blame Robin for that."

"If that were Djaq, wouldn't you put up with the cold shoulder for a few days?"

Okay. That was a new twist to the conversation. "What?"

Allan grinned. "If it were Djaq," he repeated slowly, "you know, our female friend back at camp, what would you do?"

"I really don't see how that's important."

"You've got feelings for her, so the way I see it, yeah, it is important."

"I seem to remember you saying you loved her too."

"I like her well enough, yeah. But love's not for me, mate. You, however, are another story."

Will and Allan talked about a lot of things – probably a lot of things Will would never discuss with any of the other outlaws. Yet, they'd never really talked about Djaq. And for the first time, Will found he was putting himself in Robin's place with Djaq in Marian's situation. Djaq and Marian were both capable women, both proud, both brave, so it wasn't a long stretch for Will to imagine Djaq having a similar determination to stand by her father despite the danger. From this perspective, the situation looked entirely different.

"I'd have to let her make her own decision, whether I liked it or not," Will said quietly after a long, contemplative silence. "She wouldn't be angry for just a few days. She'd never forgive me."

"Djaq's not here, you know."

"It's the truth."

If Allan had a comment for that, Will would never know as they both heard the unmistakable sound of hooves in the distance … hooves that belonged to a lot of horses. It only took a few moments before the head of the procession came into view over the hillside – Gisborne leading the armed guards. "Go, get Robin," Will said.

"You run faster," Allan pointed out. "You go get Robin. Besides, I've got bloody leg cramps from sitting here for so long."

Okay, fine, now wasn't the time to argue, but Will asked, "What do you plan to do?"

"Me? I'm going to get a closer look, see what happens."

"Don't do anything until we get here."

"Didn't plan to," Allan replied. "Not that stupid, mate." As Will turned to disappear back into the forest, Allan added, "Oi, if you don't hurry, I won't have much choice."

* * *

Much worried about his master. That was nothing new. Robin always gave him a hundred different reasons to worry. Yet somehow, today was different. They'd sat watching Knighton Hall for hours; Much couldn't even recall how long. In fact, Much was willing to bet Robin hardly blinked or even moved a muscle. He just sat there, staring straight ahead with a near vacant look in his eyes. The haunted look disturbed Much because there was something about it Much had never seen on his master's face before. 

Much almost wished Robin would lash out like he had the day he'd held Gisborne captive against the wishes of the other outlaws or like he had the other day when Much tried to convince him to go to Nottingham with the others. Anything was preferable to this.

As they walked slowly, silently back to camp, Much wondered if Marian realized just how deeply she affected Robin. She couldn't, Much determined. Because if she did … well then surely she wouldn't be doing this if she knew. Above all else, Much understood loyalty. But Sir Edward wasn't at risk. And surely Marian couldn't think Robin wouldn't protect Sir Edward. If – and Much was certain that was a large if – Sir Edward faced the wrath of Gisborne or the Sheriff, Robin wouldn't leave him to his fate in Nottingham's prison.

No, the Sheriff would be more interested in Marian now. And of course he'd redouble his efforts to catch Robin. Marian was a way to get to Robin. Much suppressed a groan. This was not good. Not good at all.

They were close to camp, so close Much could smell food simmering in the pot over the fire, when Robin finally talked. "I should go back."

Exasperated, Much watched Robin stop and turn back in the direction of Knighton. This time, Much groaned aloud. "Master, no. You have not slept in days, and – and when was the last time you ate?"

"I am fine, Much. Unlike you I can manage a few hours without eating."

"I'll just pretend you did not say that. And it has been longer than a few hours." Much sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward as Robin brushed past him, briskly walking the path that would return him to Knighton. With little recourse, Much followed. "Master, Will and Allan are capable of keeping watch on Knighton. Will is, at least. Allan on the other hand … oof." Much ran straight into Robin, who'd suddenly stopped.

"Quiet, Much," Robin demanded.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Robin tilted his head, listening. He frowned. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"_That_."

And Much heard it. Voices. They were coming from the direction of camp, but those were not the voices of Little John and Djaq. Quickly and quietly, Robin drew his bow and set an arrow, motioning for Much to do the same. Much opted for the sword, and then, he followed Robin, moving swiftly from one tree to the next until the camp came into view.

Both Robin and Much scanned the surroundings. Aside from the boiling pot and rumpled blankets, there was no evidence anyone had been here at all. Much lowered his sword. "Where's Djaq … and John? There's no one here."

"I wouldn't say there's no one here."

A hooded figure cracked Robin over the back of the head with a quarterstaff. As Robin went down, Much moved to attack the cloaked figure, but pain exploded in his own skull. Much dropped to his knees before falling forward into the bed of grass and dead leaves.

* * *

**A/N: **Many thanks to … Capt. Cow (First off, thank you, and I do believe the channeling of Gibbs may have been from a combination of no sleep and the fact my husband and I FINALLY got to the drive in the other night to see At World's End. That and the fact Djaq is well … Jack. As soon as I thought of Little John saying, "Djaq," it was all over after that. Oh well.) MontyPythonFan (I'm so happy you're enjoying it, thank you!) Nicki1147 (Thank you, so glad you're enjoying. You'll have to see the above comment about Gibbs … it really was a late night when I wrote that. And there will be more Guy in future chapters!) 

Thanks again everyone – greatly appreciate the kind words!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Sure, yeah, I own it, and I'm also married to Gerard Butler … (sigh) oops, sorry, I was dreaming again.

**A/N: **It is currently 3 in the morning, it's been a long week. After a few rewrites, this is as good as it gets for this chapter. Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Sitting on her bed, Marian winced as she unwound the bandage from her stomach. The pain was tolerable, but she'd be lying if she said it didn't hurt at all. Yesterday's events, especially the furious horse ride from Locksley to Nottingham, aggravated the wound. Though Djaq stitched her up well, there was blood on the bandage. It was nothing to be alarmed about, but enough that Marian realized she needed a clean dressing.

Luckily, she kept a fair stock of clean bandages. Maybe she burned the Nightwatchman's costume, but she had not destroyed all evidence of the Nightwatchman's existence at Knighton. Carelessly, Marian set aside the bloodied strip of fabric. After she was finished here, she reminded herself to burn it in the fireplace as she'd burned the Nightwatchman's garb.

As she secured the clean dressing about her, concealing the ugly wound that almost killed her, Marian closed her eyes, her mind inevitably drifting back to Robin. She had not slept, thoughts of Robin keeping her awake until dawn when she finally gave up any pretense of sleep.

Why was she still here? Was he right? Had she made the wrong choice? He'd left her once … how many times could she choose someone else over him before he stopped trying? Why did she always pick the path that led furthest away from him?

It wasn't a question of loving him because she did. More than anything, she loved Robin of Locksley. And it wasn't a question of blaming him anymore because she didn't. Maybe Marian wanted Robin to admit it wasn't just glory that sent him to the Holy Land. Maybe she wanted him to admit that a larger part of him simply panicked and told him to run from the pressure of responsibility. She wanted him to trust her with those doubts and insecurities – she wanted all of him, not just bits and pieces. Still, the anger, the sense of betrayal and rejection, was gone. So why did they always meet at the crossroads and travel in opposite directions?

Marian knew she had a responsibility, one she could not and would not abandon, but before her last stint as the Nightwatchman, Robin accused her of using her father as an excuse to keep from making a choice. Frustration and desperation made him say it, but what if he was right? What if her father suffered more because she stayed here after her actions against Gisborne? What if Robin suffered more because she stayed here? What if, what if, what if?

Marian sighed, her head aching. She'd been thinking herself in circles for hours now, going over everything that transpired since Robin's return. Not that any of it was helping.

To occupy herself, she dressed, telling herself she'd made her decision and she couldn't keep deliberating over her and Robin. She needed to think about the Sheriff and Gisborne. She needed to prepare herself.

Marian closed her eyes, drawing in a slow, steady breath just as she heard the sound of horses and the clattering of a carriage. Startled, Marian glanced out the window in time to see Guy of Gisborne dismount from his horse.

She hadn't expected them to wait long, but she hadn't expected them so soon.

She hurried downstairs. Her father, hearing the arrival as well, was standing, prepared to meet the Sheriff and Gisborne.

Common courtesies weren't apart of today's visit. The door flew open just as Marian noticed her father tuck a dagger into the belt around his waist. Gisborne entered, followed by the Sheriff and a group of armed guards. From her vantage point, Marian could see there were several more guards waiting outside Knighton Hall, probably in case Robin and his men happened to be in the area. She prayed they weren't. Skilled though Robin and the outlaws were, sometimes skill could not overcome the odds, and based on the men she could see, the odds were certainly in the Sheriff's favor.

Marian met the oddly surprised gaze of Gisborne. Strange, he looked as if he hadn't expected to find her here.

"You lose, Gisborne," the Sheriff announced. "She's exactly where I expected to find her, by her dear father's side." He motioned to the guards inside the manor. "You two, stay here. The rest of you search the house. If you find an outlaw, feel free to hurt him. But no killing, not yet. I want a very public hanging for Robin Hood and his men."

"My lord Sheriff, I do not understand …"

"Ah, ah, ah," the Sheriff interrupted. "No lies. Oh, wait, I did say I'd love to see you try. Well then, by all means, do try."

"I had hoped to speak with Sir Guy alone," Marian replied, wondering how she could remain so calm when she knew this would not end well. "Things happened yesterday, and my temper … there is no excuse for what I did to you, Sir Guy. I was angry, but that was no reason to treat you as I did."

"Yet you accuse me of lying," Gisborne said. "No reason? Hood wasn't your reason? Several people confess you rode off with him to Nottingham. I admit I'm surprised you didn't run straight to Sherwood."

"I do not know what you heard, but I can assure you, Sir Guy, you are mistaken. It is not my wish to run off with an outlaw."

"He left you for honor and glory, and you still love him. You would ruin yourself and your father for _him_." Gisborne spat the word with an ugly look on his face, one that made Marian cringe inwardly. He was obsessed.

"Ah, lover's quarrel," the Sheriff chimed in, apparently entertained by it all.

"Sir Guy, please." But Marian didn't know what to plead for. Understanding? No, she was every bit the fool to think she could soften Guy with apologies. They were past a time she could have swayed him with words.

"You lied to my daughter," Edward cut in suddenly. "She agreed to a marriage upon the King's return. And you lied, bringing an imposter to pose as King Richard for your schemes. How else do you expect a young woman to react when the man she believes in lies to her?"

The Sheriff chuckled. "Such acting. Do you know I could almost believe it? _Poor_ Marian, simply devastated by her betrothed's deception."

Gisborne ignored the Sheriff's delight over the drama unfolding and stepped forward, seizing Marian by the arm and dragging her forward so that her face was inches from his. Edward made a move to intervene, but the Sheriff was on him before he had the chance, pushing him against the wall, the blade of a dagger at his throat. "Now, now, Edward, it's just getting good. Let's not spoil the show, hmm?"

"What difference does it make?" Gisborne demanded. "If you cared, even a little, it shouldn't matter whether the King was here yesterday or five years from now. If you cared … but that's the point, isn't it? You only ever said yes to save yourself and your father. I never meant a thing to you."

"Whatever gave you that idea, Gisborne?" the Sheriff drawled.

"And you only ever offered because of my status," Marian returned, unable to take this in meek silence any longer. How could she ever have told Robin that Gisborne had qualities? The thought sickened her now. "I never meant more to you than a way to guarantee your place amongst the nobility."

Gisborne looked as if she had slapped him. But the expression of hurt surprise faded before Marian could be certain it was ever really there. His grip tightened on her arm. "Why? Why is Hood so important to you?"

"Sir Guy, please, you're hurting me." Marian winced at the brutal hold he had on her arm.

"My lord, Hood and his gang are not here." One of the Sheriff's soldiers returned from the upstairs, interrupting the scene playing out on the first floor. Marian noticed the bundle of dirty bandages in his hand, and she realized with a start she hadn't discarded the bandages. She drew in a short, sharp breath, knowing she could do nothing but wait and see how clever Guy of Gisborne really was.

Both the Sheriff and Gisborne looked over at the guard. "But I did find this," he continued. "There's blood here, sir. Found it in the lady's chamber, on the bed."

The Sheriff appeared only mildly interested. "Hood or one of his men, do you think Gisborne?"

Absorbed, Gisborne released his hold on Marian and took the fabric from the guard. He ran his thumb over the dried blood. "You were ill," Gisborne murmured, almost to himself. "The morning after the Nightwatchman robbed me, you were unwell."

Gisborne's glare pinned Marian. She'd never seen a darker look in his eyes, not even when he looked at Robin. All of his hatred – everything that was black inside him – was now focused on her alone. She could've denied his logic. His conclusion wasn't based on much, just a bloodied strip of fabric. Except, without warning, Gisborne reached down, grasping her waist and jabbing his thumb into her stomach – into the same spot where he'd stabbed the Nightwatchman.

Unable to conceal the wave of agony that crashed through her, Marian doubled over on a choked gasp of pain, her eyes watering. She crumpled to her knees, the pain making her weak.

"What is this, Gisborne?" the Sheriff demanded, his interest suddenly piqued.

"I stabbed the Nightwatchman. Strangely enough, Lady Marian seems to be suffering from a similar injury."

"Well, well, now this _is_ interesting," the Sheriff murmured. "Certainly more than I ever bargained for. Lady Marian is the infamous Nightwatchman. And Edward was aiding and harboring a criminal." The Sheriff stepped away from Edward and nudged Marian with his boot. "Nothing to say for yourself? No pretty appeals to Sir Guy?"

"Please," Marian gasped. "Please, my lord Sheriff, I swear my father is innocent. He knew nothing of this. I swear it."

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow, eyeing her with unconcealed skepticism. "Well come now, my dear, at this point I'd hardly believe you if God himself vouched for your sincerity. I mean, you did say you'd marry Gisborne, and you didn't. You said you hated outlaws, but you really love them. In fact, you are one. So really, you need to see things from my perspective."

As the Sheriff, Gisborne, and the guard were preoccupied with Marian, Edward reached for the dagger he'd tucked away minutes earlier. He pulled the weapon, ready to drive it into the back of the Sheriff when the Sheriff spun around, pinning Edward's hand to the wall and driving his own blade into Edward's shoulder.

"Oops, missed," the Sheriff said. "Next time, you won't be so lucky." The Sheriff motioned for the guards. "Take him."

Edward clutched his injured shoulder as the guard shoved him toward the front door. Marian's desperate gaze met her father's. Things were worse, much worse than they or Robin could've envisioned.

Abruptly, Gisborne hauled Marian to her feet. He was not kind as he tied the length of twine about her wrists, binding her hands behind her back. But Marian didn't notice. Aside from the throbbing in her stomach, her mind and body were numb.

She'd made everything worse. Her carelessness allowed Gisborne to finally put two and two together. Now there was no escaping the Sheriff's wrath for her father. There was no escaping for her, and Robin and the others would be caught right in the middle of it all.

Because of her.

"Well what a day, wouldn't you say, Gisborne? And it's not even noon." The Sheriff wiped Edward's blood from the blade of the dagger. "You," he said to Marian, pointing the tip of the dagger toward her nose, "have been a very naughty girl. But it's all for the best really - a happily ever after for everyone. I get to plan a trial for you and your father before the nobles. Hmm, and of course, the gallant Robin Hood will rush in to save the day. Then … we'll kill him." The Sheriff paused, his smile for Marian alone. "Oh, I'm sorry, I guess that won't make you too happy, now will it?"

* * *

Though anxious to alert Robin to the approaching danger at Knighton, Will wasn't foolish enough to shout his name through the forest as he ran. Quickly and quietly, he raced through Sherwood. Halfway back to the camp, his pace slowed. 

Something wasn't right.

And someone was following him. Gripping the two battle-axes, his weapons of choice, Will spun around, using the axes to halt the downward swing of a quarterstaff. While the hooded figure was stunned, Will kicked the attacker in the stomach, sending the figure stumbling back but not down. The figure dove at Will again, wielding the quarterstaff nearly as well as Little John.

Will fought back, all the while trying to scan his surroundings, wondering if the others were all right and if this was a lone assailant or one of many. Though skilled, the attacker's endurance couldn't match Will's. Before long, Will's opponent pushed the aggressive too far, apparently desperate to disarm Will. Catching the quarterstaff at the right angle with one of his axes, Will disarmed his opponent, sending the quarterstaff sailing into the underbrush. Before the figure could quite register what had occurred, Will had his opponent against the base of an oak, blade of the axe at his throat.

"Please." The gasp was barely audible, but it was enough for Will to realize the voice belonged to a woman. Hands trembling, the figure pulled back the hood and then yanked down the strip of cloth covering the lower half of her face.

Deciding to get to the point, Will demanded, "Who are you? And what are you doing here?" Of course, this was a forest, and people were free to roam about it as they pleased, but Will had come to think of Sherwood as sort of belonging to Robin and the outlaws. It was _their_ home, after all, even if it was an unconventional home.

"M-my name is Sarah FitzRoy, and I was … well, I was looking to rob you. Times are hard, you know."

"FitzRoy?" Will frowned. It was a surname reserved for the bastard children of the king. Surely this girl couldn't possibly … "You're the king's daughter?"

"One of Henry's bastards or so my mother claims. But as you can see, having a king for a father, even if he is a dead king, hasn't helped me in the least."

That was an understatement, Will figured. Living the life of an outlaw hadn't afforded much in the way of hygiene, but this girl looked worse than he, Allan, and John had the time they'd been forced to take an unconventional route out of Nottingham castle – the indoor privy. Granted, she didn't smell as bad, he'd give her that. Yet despite her appearance, Will didn't know whether to believe her. Was she just a lone, common outlaw? It wasn't unusual, but there was something about Sarah FitzRoy that didn't quite ring true.

Still, no one else attacked, which meant she was alone. By this point, any companions hiding in the shrubbery would've come to her rescue. Logically, that made sense, and Will didn't have time to waste. He had to get to Robin and the others. Not only were the Sheriff and Gisborne at Knighton, but Will also couldn't count on how long it would take before Allan got impatient and did something stupid.

Will lowered his weapons and reached into the tiny leather purse strapped to the belt around his waist. There were only two coins. "Here," he said placing them in her hand. "It isn't much, but …"

Sarah's hand closed around the coins, and Will thought she looked sad, almost guilty, for a moment before the fleeting expression faded. "Sorry," she whispered. With a sharp, quick movement, she kneed him in the groin. As he doubled over, her knee connected with his face.

* * *

Sarah thought she felt his nose crack. After she was sure he wasn't moving, she rolled him over. He groaned softly but otherwise made no movement. There was a good bit of blood on his face. His nose was definitely broken. 

At the sound of rusting leaves, Sarah glanced over her shoulder. "Bloody hell, David," she cursed as one of her companions dropped from the branches of a nearby tree. "What were you waiting for?"

The man Sarah only knew as David of Doncaster laughed as he straightened to his full height, which may have been impressive if he carried more weight on his thin frame. "You were managing well enough on your own."

"Really?" Sarah asked. "Is that why he had an axe at my throat?"

"It's one of Robin's men, love. He wouldn't have hurt you. Look it, he could've slit your throat, but instead, he gives you a couple of coins. Now _that_ is a noble outlaw." David paused, studying Sarah for a moment. "Here now, you feel bad about it?"

Sarah snorted. "No, of course not." David raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "All right, maybe a little. I mean, we are delivering them to the same fate we were all condemned to."

"Every man for himself, Sarah. That's what this world's taught me. And I want that full pardon. I want the gold we were offered. And I sure as hell don't want to go back to the Tower. Do you?"

Sarah sighed, shaking her head as she tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. No, she didn't want to go back to the Tower. She wanted the pardon and the gold as much as David, as much as they all did. It meant a new life. "Well where's the other one?"

David shrugged. "This one was alone."

"What do you mean alone?"

"Ah, I mean alone, love. Didn't realize there's more than one meaning for the word."

"The deal was for all of them," Sarah pointed out. "We can't go back missing one."

"You worry too much," David replied. "We'll find him. He'll have to come back to camp eventually. Besides, we've got Locksley. He's the one Lackland really wants."

Tales of Robin Hood and his gang's daring exploits had reached London, and the common people took inspiration from him, rebelling against the injustice and corruption of Prince John's England. London had seen its share of people mimicking Robin Hood, robbing from the tax collectors, robbing from the nobles, robbing from the crooked merchants … robbing from the rich to give to the poor.

Furious with the Sheriff of Nottingham's inability to deal with Robin Hood, Prince John had taken matters into his own hands. Though Sarah was quite sure the Sheriff had no knowledge of Lackland's frothing discontent over the Sheriff's incompetence. But the politics of it made no difference to Sarah or any of her companions for that matter. Awaiting the executioner's blade in the Tower, Prince John had come to them, offering all of them full pardons and a ransom's worth of gold to hunt down Robin Hood and his men and return them alive to London.

Then, Prince John would prove just how mortal the beloved Robin Hood was when he organized the public beheading of the people's adored champion.

* * *

**A/N: **I originally wrote this chapter with the Sheriff and Gisborne actually finding the Nightwatchman's costume, but then I remembered Marian burned it. So I had to change it, figuring that Gisborne, if given some clue, would be clever enough to put two and two together. Also, I think this chapter kind of made the story bigger than I initially planned by adding Prince John, which I hadn't originally figured on ... which is why I should listen to the people who tell me I need to write outlines for my stories so I don't get ahead of myself. Ugh, okay, sorry, I talk too much … anyway, I hope you enjoyed and thanks so much for reading! 

Many thanks to … Nicki1147(lol, I know, cliffhangers are evil. Thanks so much for the review. Allan's my favorite, so it does me good to hear I'm doing his character justice), GreggoAddict(First off, thank you much for the review, and … yes, they are pretty screwed at the moment), Capt. Cow(Lol, hyper reviews are just fine by me :) Will and Djaq are adorable, aren't they? Love Allan and all, but I just can't see him and Djaq together. As always, thanks bunches!), MontyPythonFan(So glad you're enjoying! I had a rough time with this chapter, so it's so nice to hear you enjoyed it. Thank you!), Raina-Bess(Thank you so much! Happy to see you enjoyed it!), Dr. Nat(Thank you so much, I truly appreciate your kind words. The biggest reason I love this show is the characters and their relationships, so it makes me happy to hear I'm doing that justice, especially Will and Allan. At first it seems like such an odd friendship, but yet they're so perfectly suited to being friends because their personalities balance each other out. And you're right; an angry Marian probably wouldn't be much fun.), hardyboyfansrock(Thank you much for the review … hopefully I won't crash into writer's block anywhere along the way and can keep this story moving), YouLuvMeCosImCrazy(Thank you so much! It makes me smile to hear you're enjoying it!), SeaStarr(Thank you, I greatly appreciate the review! It's always good to hear I'm keeping the characters true to form.)

Yes, I know, I'm repeating myself, but your reviews make me smile, so thank you again and I do appreciate the time you all take to read and review.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Nope, not mine.

**A/N: **As always, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

He knew this wasn't going to be good, which was why he'd sent Will for Robin. If anyone was going to do anything stupid today, it was going to be Allan, not Will. Still, he hadn't expected it to be this bad.

_Bloody hell_.

He hadn't seen much, but he'd heard enough. Sir Edward and Lady Marian were being taken to Nottingham for trial, and the Sheriff knew Marian was the Nightwatchman.

Allan glanced back at the forest, scanning the trees for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

They'd set up camp closer than normal to civilization during the night to be within reasonable running distance of Knighton. It shouldn't have taken Will this long to reach the others.

Then again, maybe all that much time hadn't passed since he'd left the underbrush to keep a closer watch on what transpired inside Knighton Hall. It just seemed that way because two people were arrested and Marian was revealed as a traitor. Things like that just seemed like they should take longer than a few minutes.

Sir Edward was already in the carriage when the remaining guards inside the manor filed out followed by the Sheriff, Gisborne, and Lady Marian. As the Sheriff paused to look around, Allan ducked back around the corner of the manor to stay out of sight. Crouched down, he pressed back against the wall. Time was running out.

Allan took one last look at the forest. Still nothing.

Robin and the others wouldn't be here in time. Even if they suddenly appeared, what difference would it make? Despite his years on the wrong side of the law, Allan never saw a contingent of guards as large as the group surrounding Knighton, even at Nottingham Castle. Briefly, Allan wondered if the Sheriff rented soldiers just for this particular occasion. Regardless, there were enough men in front of Knighton to make anyone think twice about interfering. Robin Hood might have the luck of the devil when it came to overwhelming odds, but this … this was too much. And a year ago, Allan's decision would've been easy. Wagering that even God's good graces couldn't see him through a fight like this alive, he'd already be taking to the cover of the forest.

But that was a year ago when only one person mattered to him and that person was Allan-a-Dale. Things were different now; he was different.

Okay, running away was not an option. He knew that. So what did he do? As precious seconds slipped by, Allan thought of Will. What would Will do? Will was noble, Will always did the right thing, and Will made intelligent decisions … for the most part. Right now, Allan figured Will wouldn't be making an intelligent choice; he'd be thinking with his heart and not his head, which meant he'd be doing something stupid.

Good thing Allan was here and not Will.

Well, there wasn't much Allan's one-man army was going to accomplish against the Sheriff's men. Best he could hope for was to stall them until Robin and the others saw fit to stroll on out of Sherwood and help.

Right. Stall them. That was a plan. Sort of.

Keeping an eye on the movements of the soldiers as Gisborne directed Lady Marian, whose hands were tied behind her, toward the carriage, Allan drew his bow, the only practical weapon at his disposal. Though he preferred a sword or dagger and he certainly wasn't a crack shot like Robin, Allan could hit a target well enough, and he was quick.

Aiming, Allan squinted to line up with his mark – the guard beside the Sheriff. Oh, it was so tempting to move the arrow a little to the left. If he did, the Sheriff would become a quickly forgotten memory. Allan's gaze strayed toward the Sheriff, temptation warring with morality.

No. He wasn't here to kill anyone, though the desire was great. If he couldn't stand by and let Robin torture or murder Gisborne, then it wasn't Allan's place to take out the Sheriff. Or, well … he could take the Sheriff out, at least out of commission for awhile. When aiming to cause the most commotion and confusion, better take out the top of the pecking order than the bottom.

Pulling back the string, Allan drew in his breath and held it to keep his aim as steady as possible. Then, he fired.

* * *

There was nothing but fog. It was as if she were living in a small, blurry compartment separate from the rest of the world. Colors didn't look anything more brilliant than varying shades of gray. Sir Guy was like a strange, hazy apparition beside her. Marian sensed the rage in him had subsided, that black hatred that, for a few moments, had truly frightened her. Now he just seemed … resigned, defeated. He didn't hate her right now, but he didn't like her either. 

Marian blinked, trying to focus on what was occurring around her. She'd felt like this just a few days ago – not a part of her own body or the world around her, drifting between reality and something that wasn't. She'd been on the verge of dying then with Robin beside her. Looking at the vague shadows of people around her, Marian didn't recognize any of them besides Sir Guy and the Sheriff. None of them were Robin.

As the carriage swam into view before her, Marian's mind latched onto something coherent: they were taking her and her father to Nottingham, and they were going to hang them. Panic stiffened her muscles, and, for the first time, she actually registered that her wrists were bound behind her back.

Before she could struggle, the Sheriff went down, an arrow protruding from his thigh. She heard the hiss of swords being unsheathed, the shouts from Gisborne to keep the men organized. Despite their numbers, Marian could feel the unease sweeping through the ranks as two men helped the Sheriff into the carriage and out of immediate danger. Robin and his men defied the odds time and again. Why should this time be any different?

Another guard went down, wailing in agony as he clutched his leg. Two more. Three. Four. Marian lost count as Gisborne forced her toward the carriage. Rescue here would be easier and more likely than at Nottingham, though Robin had staged enough rescues at Nottingham in the past. Yet somehow, Marian knew this time wouldn't be like the other times.

Digging her heels into the ground, Marian pushed away from Gisborne's grip, fighting as best she could without the use of her hands. But Gisborne wasn't having it, and he wasn't gentle either. Seizing her around the waist, Gisborne hauled Marian into the confines of the carriage.

During the ensuing struggle, Marian felt the stitches in her abdomen stretch and tear. Pain sliced through her, sucking all the breath from her like a blow to the stomach. Tears burned her eyes, and her vision blurred. As the blackness threatened to pull her under, Marian made one last effort to fight it before she gave in.

She yelled for Robin.

* * *

Allan heard Marian scream for Robin. He'd bloody well like to shout for Robin too. 

Where were they?

After ducking behind the side of the stable to avoid the guards that were fanning out, Allan took a brief second to regain himself, wiping the sweat from his brow and taking in a few long, deep breaths. And, damn it all, a part of him wanted to run. Survival instinct kicked in, clawing to the surface, telling him to run now for the cover of Sherwood. Allan knew this was a no win situation unless the others showed up in the next minute. Even then, well, sure he'd seen stranger things happen, but luck wasn't going to be enough today.

His window of opportunity was closing fast, and, to his shame, he nearly took it. He even took a step in the right direction, but he stopped and pressed back against the building. When he only thought about his own neck and his own future, decisions were a lot easier. Right now being noble didn't have many benefits. In fact, he was quite sure that being noble would see him hanging from the end of a rope or skewered with a sword.

The self preservation instinct told him Marian didn't really matter to him … but she didn't deserve this, and Robin loved her.

And somewhere along the way, Robin … all of the outlaws, even Much, had become his friends. He'd even count Will as a brother.

Allan sighed. So be it. The pessimist in him always knew that's how he'd end up – the hanging bit anyway. Since his brother's death, that feeling had only intensified to utmost certainty. It was just a matter of when.

Well, no better time than the present. Discarding the bow and quiver that held his remaining few arrows, Allan drew out his sword. Maybe if he could distract them and keep them at Knighton for just a bit longer … well, maybe Robin and the others would show up.

Leaving the temporary sanctuary of the stable wall, Allan met the two guards coming round his way. He didn't want to kill. Killing wasn't something Robin Hood's men did. But as more guards swarmed the scene, Allan didn't have time to think about the issue of taking lives. He was fighting for his own survival and for the lives of Marian and her father.

Ultimately, there was little one man could do against so many men. But it was a fist, not a sword, which caught him in the face. The unexpected blow knocked him back but not down. Still, with the armed men surrounding him, it was more than enough. Before he really registered what was happening, Allan was on his knees, a blade at his throat and a hand twined roughly in his hair, forcing him to look up at Guy of Gisborne.

Lovely view, that. If he was going to die, the least they could do was find a pretty buxom blonde or brunette … or hell, hair color didn't matter … to stand in front of him. He surely didn't want the last thing he saw in this world to be bloody Gisborne. Though Gisborne didn't look entirely charitable at the moment, which probably meant he wasn't in the mood to grant any last requests.

Ah well, at least he'd be able to tell God he died saving, er, _trying_ to save a lady. That would have to earn him some bonus points, right? He hoped so because at that moment, Allan had a peculiar flash of all the not so nice things he'd done in his life.

"Where's Hood?" Gisborne demanded.

"Hood?" Allan asked, feigning confusion. "Sorry, mate, can't say I know any Hoods. Are they from up around Barnsdale maybe?"

"Do not try my patience." Gisborne's fists were clenched at his sides as though he were exerting a great deal of restraint to keep from beating Allan to a pulp. "I'll ask you again. Where's Hood?"

"Hmm, Hood … oh! You must mean Robin. Yeah, well he's not here."

"I can _see_ that." Allan was wondering how Gisborne managed to talk through his teeth like that when Gisborne continued, "I want to know where he is."

"Not sure about that, actually," Allan said. "Say, that's a right nasty bruise there. Not very popular with the ladies, Gisborne?"

He should've expected the backhand. So much for Gisborne's restraint. After spitting out blood and part of a tooth, Allan's head was forced back around by the guard gripping his hair. Gisborne's glacial expression could've frozen hell. "I will take the utmost pleasure in torturing you. I'll consider it a warm-up before Hood joins us in Nottingham." Gisborne nodded toward the guard holding Allan. "Put him with Marian and Edward."

* * *

**A/N: **Quick update before the next few days keep me pretty busy. Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading :) 


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Nothing new here - still not mine.

**A/N: **Not a whole lot going on in this chapter, but things will pick up, I promise … as always enjoy and thank you for reading :)

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"How do you suppose a Saracen ended up in England? And then joining Robin Hood's gang?"

"I wouldn't know."

"I mean, Robin Hood fought with King Richard, didn't he? Why would he fight alongside a Saracen now? It's strange, don't you think?"

"No less odd than me, a monk, you, a poacher, Sarah, a thief, and David, a rogue mercenary working side by side."

"Yeah but, well, we're working for the same thing. It's not like we chose each other's company."

"Perhaps Robin Hood and the Saracen are working for the same thing as well."

The murmured reply was noncommittal. Slowly, Djaq opened her eyes to see the speakers. She stifled a moan as the severe pain in her head resumed its pounding rhythm. And it took her a moment to piece together what had happened. Not long after Allan and Will left for Knighton to relieve Robin and Much at the lookout, she and Little John were ambushed by a group of four hooded figures. Now, her hands were bound by a thick piece of rope, her back pressed flush against the crooked width of a birch tree. Her back and shoulders ached along with her head, and she could no longer feel her fingertips beyond the needle sharp prickling sensation that indicated lack of blood flow.

Djaq glanced around, trying to contain the unpleasant roiling of her stomach with slow, even breaths. Little John was tied to a tree just across from her. He had a dark purple lump on his forehead and a dirty rag stuffed in his mouth. They hadn't gagged her, but she imagined Little John must've given them a reason to quiet him while she'd been out. Their eyes met, and then John nodded toward the cluster of trees beside her. Though her head throbbed in protest, Djaq turned to look beside her. Both Robin and Much were bound, unconscious, though Much appeared to be coming around as his head bobbed slightly and a soft groan escaped his lips.

Robin was closest to Djaq, maybe a foot away at most. His head hung limp, his chin resting against his chest. There was no movement from him, no sound, nothing. Aside from the shallow rise and fall of his chest, there was no other indication he was still alive. As the resident doctor – the one who understood battle wounds and fevers – Djaq wanted to look everyone over and make certain all injuries were nothing more serious than bumps and bruises, but that seemed an unlikely wish.

Experimentally, Djaq twisted her hands to test the strength of the rope and the knot and found the ropes were secure around her wrists. She met Little John's gaze again, and she didn't have to hear him say it to know they were both thinking the same thing.

Will and Allan were their only hope.

Still, the group's faith in Allan and Will had suffered a little, though no one dared say it aloud … not that anyone had really had the opportunity to say it at all. Djaq conceded it was likely Allan's idea to take off with the money Lady Marian stole from Gisborne and use it as a kind of "severance package" since King Richard's return was imminent at the time. But Will had followed. Of course, the two returned in time to help ward of the Sheriff and his men, but the damage was done nonetheless. Though she could hardly admit it to herself, it wasn't their running off with the gold that bothered her as much as it was their running off without a goodbye, without a word … as Will leaving them behind … leaving her behind.

And Djaq reminded herself that those thoughts were dangerous. Sure, she could admit she saw Will a little differently than she saw Robin or Allan or John or Much, but to admit anything beyond that … it just wasn't a good idea. She'd long ago discarded the idea of love because those feminine notions, those romantic ideals, they belonged to Saffia. And she wasn't Saffia anymore. She was Djaq, and Djaq didn't completely rely on one person to get her out of trouble which was why, with little else to do, Djaq studied and listened to the two men, hoping to find something – anything – that might help get them out of this predicament.

She realized the other two ambushers must be out setting a trap for Will and Allan, leaving these two to guard the prisoners and set up camp. They had discarded their cloaks, and they were sitting beside a small campfire. For awhile, the two sat in silence. The younger of the two men was thin, but he looked capable. His face was cut from strong, angular lines, but he didn't look like a cruel man. His most distinguishing characteristic was his hair. Djaq had never seen hair quite so red on any person.

The older of the two was short and stocky, broad shoulders, barrel chest, thick belly, and a heavy face. And he didn't look like a man accustomed to knocking people out and tying them to trees. Djaq didn't sense evil from either of these two. They didn't strike her as men like the Sheriff or Gisborne who wouldn't think twice about resorting to torture or murder to get their way. So what were they about?

"Oi, Tuck," the younger man with the red hair said, finally breaking the silence, "what do you think you'll do after Lackland pardons us?"

The older man called Tuck shook his head. "I can't say, Wat. I haven't thought much beyond today."

"Don't you have any family?"

"Only God," Tuck replied.

Wat watched the older man for a moment before he said, "So is it true? You never said. I mean, they only caught me poaching, but you … you're a friar and … did you really kill the Bishop of Hereford?"

"Would it matter to you if I did?"

Wat stared at the fire for a moment, aimlessly poking a stick at it. "Well, no, I suppose not. Just wondering if it was true."

"It has always been my belief that we need not worry about asking forgiveness for the crime itself. We must ask forgiveness for why we committed the crime. Yes, I did murder the Bishop. But are you more worried about knowing the crime I committed or why I did it?"

Wat frowned, glancing up from the fire. "Well … why did you do it?"

"If you had witnessed the depravities of the Bishop, you would think murder too kind a punishment. I've no wish to relive the things I saw, but I will say only that he stole from good people, and he had a liking for torture – men and women alike. He called it absolving the sins of the people, purification through pain. He said it was his God given right to cleanse the impure – to make them worthy of Heaven. There is nothing else you need to know about that, I think."

Wat discarded the stick in his hand and crossed his arms, leaning back against the base of a tree. Djaq noted he appeared troubled by the news, as if he couldn't comprehend a man who had dedicated his life to his God could perform such crimes. Finally, Wat said, "I wouldn't want to know anything else." He paused, casting a nervous glance in the outlaws' direction. Quickly, Djaq closed her eyes and doubted Wat ever noticed she'd been studying him and Tuck. "So … do you think we're doing something bad now? You know, by taking Robin Hood and his men back to Prince John so we'll get our pardons and our payment?"

"That would be something you'd have to ask yourself, Wat. I can't answer that for you."

"But I'm not talking about me," Wat said. "I'm asking what you think."

Tuck chuckled. "You want me to tell you what you _should_ think about it all. I know my own answer. I can't give you yours."

That puzzled Djaq, and she wondered what Tuck meant by that. Could he be an ally, just playing along with the others for now? Or did he only mean he'd decided his own freedom was worth Robin's torture and death – that it was no sin to save his own life at the price of other lives? Either way, Djaq had learned what she needed for the moment. The real villain here wasn't Tuck or Wat or their two companions. The villain was Prince John, desperate to stop Robin Hood for his own reasons. If Will and Allan couldn't find a way to save them, perhaps they could count on this group's tenuous allegiance to Prince John to keep her, Robin, and the others from ever making it to London.

But as Djaq thought of Will and Allan, another thought crossed her mind, one she couldn't believe hadn't occurred to her before now. What if the Sheriff and Gisborne decided this morning was a good morning for a trip to Knighton?

* * *

Guy of Gisborne shoved Allan-a-Dale into a chamber near the dungeons of Nottingham Castle. Allan stumbled but managed to keep his footing despite the heavy manacles around his ankles. For good measure, his wrists were chained too. Glancing around, it didn't take Allan long to realize this was the castle's torture chamber. In the center of the room, commanding the most attention, there was a device Allan had never seen before. Beside it there stood a skinny, greasy man with a pointed, hawk-like face and tiny, close set eyes. 

"Do you like it?" Gisborne asked as he strode into the room, two guards at his back to stand by the door. His gloved hand swept over the wooden frame.

Allan took in the rectangular wooden table – the rollers, the chains at each end, and the ratchet. He knew whatever it was meant for wasn't pleasant, but he didn't know exactly what to make of it, so he said, "Nice bed. Might be a bit uncomfortable though, what with the chains and rollers and being made of wood."

"The Sheriff," Gisborne began, turning around as he crossed his arms, "is getting stitches now."

"Give him my best, will you?"

"But," Gisborne continued, apparently ignoring Allan, "he thought you'd like a tour of the room you'll be spending your time in tomorrow. And he wanted you to have something to think about tonight." He finished that statement with another pat on the wooden device thing.

"So it's not a bed then, is it?" Allan asked. "Well sorry mate, but I'm fresh out of ideas." He paused, meeting Gisborne's cold gaze. _Oh, what the hell_. "But you look to have a personal relationship with it. New girlfriend perhaps? Oi, at least this one can't punch you. She doesn't seem very … mobile."

Gisborne smiled, if one could call that a smile. Allan figured it looked more like indigestion. Gisborne stepped away from the device, inclining his head toward the filthy man still standing at the foot of the table. "Flynn."

The man bobbed his head, an eager shadow of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Ah, yes, my lord." He moved forward. "What we have here is an ingenious invention, really. I call it the Rack. You see, how it works is this – your limbs are strapped, your wrists up here, and your ankles down here. Then, I pull this." The man Gisborne called Flynn placed his hand on the lever and pulled. The rollers moved, lengthening the top end of the table. "It is made to put excruciating pressure on the joints. And after awhile, they pop. Bones, muscles, skin – all of it begins to rip apart each time this lever is pulled." Flynn grinned at Allan, revealing that he was missing several teeth. "I don't think you'll be so funny once we strap you to this."

"Sound interesting?" Gisborne murmured.

Allan clenched his jaw, realizing he never really hated anyone like he hated Gisborne right at this moment. He should've let Robin kill Gisborne. If he ever got the chance, he'd apologize to Robin for not letting him.

"I didn't think so." Gisborne motioned to the two guards. "Take him back." Nodding at Allan, he added, "Until tomorrow."

* * *

**A/N: **Originally, there was a second half to this chapter, but due to a need for serious editing and rewriting it's been pushed to chapter 7, which will hopefully be up by the end of the week. Since it's been a few days, I wanted to post something instead of waiting another few days to get something new up. 

Many thanks to … Capt. Cow(As always, your reviews make me smile. Thank you much for the kind words, and yeah, Will's probably going to be _slightly_ miffed when he does come around, lol), Nicki1147(Oh, I couldn't agree with you more. Perhaps we ought to petition the BBC, lol. Thanks much for the review!), hardyboyfansrock(Thank you much for the review, so glad you're enjoying!), MontyPythonFan(Thank you! So glad you're enjoying it … every once in awhile it's nice to see Marian need Robin, I think, lol) scully42(Thanks so much for the kind words. I really appreciate it – it's always so wonderful for me to hear I've kept the characters true to form because it really is my biggest worry with writing fanfiction. Again, thank you!), Threll(Thank you so very much for the kind words, they are deeply appreciated! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. I've always felt action writing to be a weak point for me, so you've no idea how happy it makes me to hear you feel I've written the action sequences well. Again, thank you!)

As always, I truly appreciate the time you all take to read and review. Thank you!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **Nope, still don't own it.

**A/N: **All right, I HATE this chapter. I really, really do. I think my muse might be threatening to strike ... blah. Anyway, I guess I also wanted to say things always have to get worse before they can get better … darkest before the dawn and all that jazz. But I swear it'll get better for the gang. I figure in the neighborhood of 15 – 20 chapters for this story, so … yeah. It's going to be a bit longer before things get resolved. As always, thanks for reading and enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter 7**

The Sheriff winced as he lowered himself gingerly into the chair behind his desk. Since Gisborne had recently disposed of Nottingham's resident physician, they'd been forced to resort to a seamstress to stitch up Vasey's leg … and that nasty business of patching the unconscious Lady Marian up after noticing some blood on her clothing. He needed her alive, after all, but it didn't appear anything too severe – some torn stitches that needed mending and some blood. The stupid girl had probably just fainted from shock more than anything else.

But at least, the Sheriff admitted, the seamstress girl did neat, competent work and was probably more efficient than that bumbling idiot Pitts. Still, at any rate, Vasey was going to enjoy tomorrow. He was going to enjoy making that outlaw pay. Vasey had a new toy to play with and a new victim to try it out on. But it wasn't just any victim. No. It was one of Robin's men, which made it all the sweeter.

Vasey smiled. Oh yes. Tomorrow was going to be _fun_. But for now, the Sheriff turned his attention to his guest. Despite chains and a bloodied shoulder, Sir Edward, lord of Knighton, looked every bit the indignant nobleman, even if he was a trifle pale. Blood loss, naturally. Well, there was that and the fact Edward's dear little girl was currently sleeping with the rats in the dungeons. The thought made the Sheriff's smile widen. It was like his birthday had arrived six months early.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Sir Edward raised his chin defiantly. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Oh, good," the Sheriff said with a clap of his hands. "I was hoping you'd choose the hard way – makes things so much more fun for me. Tomorrow, we'll be testing out a new torture device on our outlaw friend. And you and your lovely daughter will have a front row seat. Now, Edward, work with me here. What I'm going to need you to do is picture yourself in the outlaw's place if you don't come up with names. Robin Hood may have ruined my plans to find the nobles disloyal to me, but you know who they are."

"I want to see Marian."

"Oh, of course you do."

"I will not tell you anything," Edward said.

"Well see, Edward, here's the thing," Vasey said. "Either way, you're going to have a trial. And either way, I'm going to see you dead. But how you end up _being_ dead … well, that's your choice."

"I will not tell you anything," Edward repeated.

Vasey rolled his eyes. "If I give you a treat, will you say something else?"

Edward glared at him, still doing his best to appear defiant. Admirable job, that. Still, the Sheriff enjoyed breaking people, and he had every intention of breaking Edward before the following night. One way or another, he'd discover the names of the nobles unfaithful to him. And one way or another, he'd have Robin Hood.

"Hmm, yes, well we'll see what your opinion is come tomorrow. I have a sneaky, little suspicion you'll find you actually have a _lot_ to say."

* * *

Michael Tuck, the friar, studied Robin Hood and his men as Wat disappeared to relieve himself in the woods. Robin Hood wasn't quite the man he'd expected to find. Since his return from the Holy Land, the man had become something of a legend amongst the peasants and the nobles who secretly despised Prince John's regency. Robin was younger than Tuck would've envisioned, almost a boy really compared to Tuck's years. It was hard to imagine the man had fought alongside King Richard in the Holy Land and now fought against the Sheriff's injustices. He'd given up everything – his land, his title, and the privileges that went along with that life. Some even claimed he'd given up the woman he loved by choosing this path. 

And it intrigued Tuck. Perhaps his own experiences jaded him and his view of people. Perhaps he'd seen too many people who only looked out for themselves and their own gains. Perhaps he'd just seen and heard the darkest sins of too many people. But Robin Hood and his friends made Tuck remember that there were still good people left in the world – people who cared more about their fellow man than themselves. They had journeyed through the towns of Nottinghamshire, meeting with designated contacts loyal to Prince John before the Sheriff. From their time spent in the villages, Tuck had seen that Robin Hood truly wasn't an exaggerated myth, a story spun by eloquent tongues. His deeds and his heroics were in fact very real.

In the Tower's dungeons, listening to the screams of the tortured and the pleadings of the condemned, Tuck's decision had been easy. Sitting in the cell that would be his last home, Tuck had been given a name: Robin of Locksley, now more popularly known as Robin Hood. And according to the stories, Hood traveled with five companions – a manservant, a Saracen, a giant, a carpenter, and a liar. In wake of the Sheriff of Nottingham's inability to handle this trouble, Prince John wanted all of them returned to London where he could deal with the problem of Robin Hood and his gang personally.

With his devotion to God, Tuck should've been accepting of his own death, even if it was at the hands of the Tower's executioner. To his shame, he couldn't confront his own mortality, and he'd blindly grasped the opportunity Prince John dangled in front of him. Then, in the Tower, it had just been a name. But now there was a face to that name. There were faces to Hood's companions. They were people, they were real, and they were trying to make a difference, giving hope back to the populace crushed by Prince John's tyrannical rule and the greed of men like the Sheriff, all scraping and fighting for bits and pieces of a country without its King.

Tuck had told Wat the truth. He knew his own answer. Perhaps he hadn't known it in London … he'd admit he hadn't even truly known it until Wat asked him if what they were doing was wrong. But he knew his answer now. He couldn't let the others return Robin and his friends to London and Prince John. Tuck was capable. After all, he hadn't been a friar his entire life, but he wasn't a young man anymore and clearly not able to take on three people – three people who were determined to receive their pardons and their payments. He wasn't even sure he'd bet on himself in a fight against sole companion at the moment, Wat, who could handle a sword and a fight better than most soldiers. So, as Wat returned to his seat beside Tuck, Tuck knew he wouldn't do anything just yet, but they took individual watches at night. Tonight, he'd rectify the mistake he made in the Tower by agreeing to sell another's life in exchange for his own. And hopefully, by releasing the hostages at night while the others slept, he could keep Sarah, David, and Wat from harm. After all, they weren't evil – they just wanted what Lackland had promised them.

Determined and confident in his choice, Tuck set about preparing a meal for the group – vegetables and a few, sparse pieces of meat. As he tossed the food into the pot over the fire, he heard a loud rustling from the forest. Looking up, he watched Sarah and David return. Over David's shoulders was draped the body of one of Robin's men. Unceremoniously, David dumped his burden on the forest floor. From his vantage point, Tuck could see it was the young outlaw, Will Scarlett, who'd lived in Locksley with his family, working as a carpenter until Robin's return from the Holy Land. Will's face was seriously battered. There was a good bit of drying blood, and it was apparent the man's nose was broken. Two very black, swollen eyes were already forming from the broken nose.

And Tuck realized something as he studied the other hostages and noticed the young Saracen's reaction to the newly arrived unconscious outlaw. The Saracen boy wasn't a boy after all. Perhaps if he'd paid closer attention earlier while he'd tied the Saracen up, he would've noticed this sooner. The look on the Saracen's face was a distinctly feminine reaction to seeing a loved one injured. He'd seen that look before – it was in the eyes, and there was no concealing the emotion that flooded the Saracen's eyes as she helplessly looked upon her friend … or perhaps the outlaw was more to her than that?

As David grabbed some rope and grasped the battered outlaw's arm, dragging him to the nearest tree to secure him alongside his friends, Wat asked, "Where's the other one? I thought there was another one."

"We'll find him." David finished tying the rope, binding the unconscious outlaw to the tree. He straightened, brushing his hands off. "You should've heard this one."

Tuck glanced at David in time to see him wave a hand in Sarah's direction. "She told him she's Henry's bastard."

Sarah shrugged as she drew off her cloak and tossed it aside, discarding her weapons as well. "It could be true," she protested. "I don't know who my father is, and my mum says she spent a night with King Henry. He wanted to know who I was, so it seemed like the thing to say."

"Sure," Wat chimed in with a laugh. "You're King Richard's half sister, and I'm the Pope."

Tuck shook his head as Wat and David enjoyed harassing Sarah further about her tall tales. The girl hadn't told a straight story since they left London. About the only thing Tuck was certain of was that Sarah's name was in fact Sarah, and she was a girl. Beyond that, Tuck learned quickly to ignore most of what Sarah said. He didn't believe she meant any harm by it, but she just seemed incapable of telling the truth.

"You," Sarah snapped, finally appearing annoyed by the teasing as she jabbed her finger at David, "need to be out looking for the other one. We can't go back to Lackland without him."

"Well how about I relax a little, love? Maybe eat something? Oi, Friar!" David said. "What've you cooked up for us?" He leaned over the pot. "Stew. Lovely. Same thing we've had for a sodden week."

"Be happy you've got food," Sarah said as she took a seat beside Tuck. She grabbed a wooden bowl and spooned out a small helping of stew.

As the group ate their meal with David talking about all he'd do with the gold Lackland promised them, Tuck glanced over again at the outlaws. He thought he saw the Saracen's lips moving, but he couldn't be sure. Was she praying perhaps? She certainly wasn't talking to the other outlaws. The manservant, whom Tuck thought they called Much, was too far away from the Saracen to hear whispered words. The tallest one across from her had a rag stuffed in his mouth, and Robin, who was tied to the tree closest to her, was still out cold. Tuck frowned. That didn't seem right. They'd brought him here hours ago.

"Something wrong, Friar?" David asked as he turned to see what Tuck was watching so intently.

Tuck shook his head, turning his attention back to his food. "No, nothing."

As the others finished their meal, David set his bowl aside and stood. "Coming with me, Wat?" he asked. "Her _majesty's_ ordered us to find the other outlaw."

"Oi, she ordered you, not me," Wat pointed out.

"Well, I'm telling you to get your things."

As David reached for his cloak, the Saracen spoke with a clear and determined voice – the first time any of Robin's gang had spoken since they'd stuffed the giant's mouth with a rag. "Excuse me?" When Sarah, Wat, David, and Tuck turned to look at her, she continued, "You must let me look at him, at Robin." She nodded her head in Robin's direction.

David crossed the small distance to stand in front of Robin. "Why? There's nothing wrong with him. He's just knocked out. What? Are you pretending to be a sodden physician or something?"

"He has been unresponsive for hours, no movement, nothing. I tended many wounded in Jerusalem. I know what I am doing."

By now, Sarah had jumped up. "David, you idiot! If you've killed him … we can_not_ go back to Lackland without Robin Hood!"

"Oh, he'll be fine," David snapped. "I just knocked him over the head. He'll be _fine_, quit worrying. He's not dead."

Sarah looked between David and the lifeless Robin. "Let the Saracen have a look at him."

"What?" David nearly shouted. "No. They stay where they are. He's just got a bloody bump on the head. What's he need a doctor for?"

"If he's dying, we have nothing, David. Like you said earlier, he's the one Lackland really wants. Untie him, and let the Saracen look at him."

"No," David said as he knelt in front of Robin. "He's still breathing."

"For now," Sarah snapped.

"Just because he is breathing … you must … Djaq is telling you the truth."

Tuck and the others glanced over at the manservant Much. "Djaq knows medicine and – and injuries. Surely you would not … you cannot just leave him tied up there to die when Djaq can help him."

The panic in the manservant's voice was genuine. "Bloody hell," David cursed. "Wat, keep the Saracen at the point of a sword. Nothing funny," he added, glaring at Djaq.

As Wat undid the ropes holding Djaq, Tuck watched David untie the limp and unresponsive Robin before laying him flat on the forest floor. Wat kept the sword at the Saracen's back as she knelt beside Robin. And Tuck waited for the trick. He certainly expected there was something afoot. But Djaq looked serious, concerned – like a physician and a friend. And there was no mistaking the fear in the eyes of Robin Hood's friends. Of course, Will was still out cold, but the other two …

This was no trick. Something was seriously wrong with Robin. Tuck exchanged a glance with Wat while Djaq pressed her ear to Robin's chest. She sat back on her heels, lifting each of his eyelids with her thumb. Looking up at David, she asked, "Where did you hit him?"

"On the back of the head," David replied.

Djaq's fingers moved beneath Robin's head. "It is a large bruise, bubbled. I have seen this before. There is pressure, pressure that must be relieved. His body still functions, but his mind is shutting down, unable to regain consciousness. I must drain the wound. That is the only way. I need a blade."

David shook his head. "No. This is ridiculous. A bump on the head _cannot_ kill someone!"

"You will find out for yourself if you do not give me a blade," Djaq said. "He will die if the pressure is not relieved, and he will die soon." She met David's gaze.

David opened and closed his mouth, unable to say anything. Wat's hand trembled, the sword he held to the Saracen's back wavering violently. "Do it," Tuck commanded quietly. Nodding toward Wat, he said, "Leave room, Wat. This is no trick." Wat lowered the sword and stepped back. Sarah pulled out her own dagger and handed it to Djaq.

Quickly, efficiently, Djaq moved to kneel behind Robin's head. Lifting his head, she rested it on her lap. Turning his face to the side, her fingers moved through his hair until she found a particular spot. Tuck couldn't guess how she knew where to cut Robin, but she looked competent at what she was doing, he'd give her that.

"I need hot water, blankets, rags. And he needs to be laying flat."

"Djaq …?"

Djaq's eyes met Much's. "The other day, I told you to pray for Marian." She paused, and Tuck thought it looked very difficult for her to say this. "I would suggest …" Djaq drew in a deep breath. "I would suggest you pray again."

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, cruel cliffhanger there. I hate to give things away, but since I don't know when the next update will be (and I don't want to be _that_ evil) I just want to say this: hopefully no one thinks I could do this, but I would _never_ kill Robin, so don't fear for his life. 

Ugh, okay, brace yourselves, this is a long thank you section coming up. But you all take the time to review, and I'm compelled to take the time to respond, even if it is just to say thank you. And I'd feel bad junking up people's emails with responses, so I put them here :)

Many thanks to … scully42(Thank you so much for the kind review! You made a good point about Marian's wound, and I did want to say that I never really planned for her wound to be anything severe, but for all that jostling around, I imagined the stitches would end up ripping some at any rate, and I figured it would be painful. I've never had stitches, so I do have to use my imagination there. Since the BBC decided it was okay for her to be up and walking about the day after a near fatal injury, I figured opening the wound a little wouldn't cause her that much distress – as in the kind where her life is in jeopardy again because of that same injury. As always thank you! I greatly appreciate the review!), Capt. Cow (I can't thank you enough for the continued support from the first chapter! I promise Will _will_ wake up soon … I just hadn't planned it for this chapter, er, well this chapter that was supposed to be the second half of chapter 6. I just imagined the part of them dragging him – unconscious – back to camp. Oh, and, I can't really say for certain what Will was thinking. Though the BBC didn't show it, I tend to think he was the one who talked him and Allan into returning. Again, LOVE Allan, but I still think there's a _small_ part of him that tends to think more of himself than anyone else. I think Will was just having a stupid man moment, lol. I can't really imagine what else he was thinking, but perhaps I'll think of something for a later chapter), Threll(I'm so happy you think I've written Allan well! Thank you so much. I know I've said it before, but Allan's my favorite, and I'm not exactly the best at smart or witty comments, but I'm glad I'm able to pull it off for Allan. Personally, I hope the show addresses Will and Allan leaving because I think it kind of had to affect the others to some extent. And yes, they are in quite a spot … I just hope I can live up to expectations and pull this off … as always, thank you much for the review!), DeanParker(Thank you so much for the review. I'm so happy you're enjoying it! And I can't give anything away, but I believe in happily ever afters, so I think Robin will do his part to save Marian!) KnightGuardian(Thank you so much! I can't tell you how much your kind words mean to me. Considering some of the fabulous RH fanfic out there, your words actually made me blush :) And you're right; Robin does get a tad bit testy and much more dangerous when it comes to Marian), auzziewitch(Thank you so much, so glad you're enjoying! The Middle Ages definitely were a much darker time, especially when it came to ideas about justice and punishment … er, lack of ideas about justice at any rate), hardyboyfansrock(As always, thank you! Yeah, Allan is in a pretty bad place right now. As for the others … well, they'll figure it out, I promise!), MontyPythonFan(As always, thank you. So happy you're enjoying it!), Nicki1147(Hmm, I knew there was something that didn't ring quite true about that chapter … I suppose Gisborne was it. I took a minute to do a quick rewrite in the previous chapter – nothing that changes the scene or the story, but hopefully something that keeps the normally taciturn Gisborne a bit more in character. As always, thank you, and I'll keep your advice in mind for future scenes with Gisborne), GreggoAddict(Thanks much for the review! That scene with Djaq in the last chapter took a small jump back in time to show when she just woke up and while Will and Allan would've still been at Knighton. So that's why Will wasn't around. Sorry for the confusion! Thanks again for reading!), YouLuvMeCosImCrazy(lol, I'm sorry for the evil cliffhangers. It's just too easy to end chapters with cliffhangers :) Thank you much for the review, and I'm so glad you're enjoying it!)


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **Belongs to the BBC … this is only wishful thinking on my part :)

**A/N: **Enjoy and, as always, thank you for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Robin was going to have to commend Djaq on her acting – and the fact she'd managed to make the cut look believable without giving him more than a scratch, really. Even _he_ thought for a moment he was dying, which he knew very well that he wasn't.

And Robin reminded himself he was going to have to apologize to the others for worrying them, but there really hadn't been time or opportunity to broadcast his plan. Though that probably worked out for the best considering it made their reactions to Robin's "injury" far more convincing.

When he'd come around maybe an hour before their attackers dragged Will here, unconscious (which seemed to be the requirement to get into this little club), it took Robin a moment to realize why his head was throbbing and why his hands and body were bound. At first, still drifting somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, Robin figured he _really_ needed to stop getting knocked over the head. It couldn't be good for his health. As that thought drifted away, and he became more fully aware of his surroundings and the events leading up to his and Much's capture, Robin kept his head down. Though every instinct told him to fight against the restraint, he needed to be smart about this. He needed to think. And somehow, he believed it would go better on him if their captors assumed he was still out.

Mostly, Robin listened, but he'd managed a few, very quick glances at what was going on around him. Djaq was closest to him, which had worked perfectly as he formed a plan. With the commotion of Will's unceremonious return, Robin took the chance to briefly catch Djaq's attention with a few whispered words, telling her what he needed her to do.

Getting untied, that was the first thing. Well, mission accomplished there.

Now, he needed a weapon.

As Djaq laid his head back on the earth to accept the blankets, hot water, and rags one of the four attackers had retrieved for her, she set the dagger near his hand. Robin felt Djaq's hand brush his to tell him she'd done it. Chancing a look around to survey where his enemies were standing, Robin just barely opened his eyes, taking in a hazy view of his surroundings through his lashes.

In the confusion created by Robin's and Djaq's admirable acting talents, no one appeared to notice she'd discarded the weapon so close to Robin's hand. Slowly, inexorably, he moved his hand closer to the hilt of the dagger. Two against four, and Robin had a weapon; Djaq didn't.

He'd faced worse odds.

His heart pumped faster as his fingertips grazed the hilt, but he steadied his movements, holding completely still as an unconscious, nearly dead man was expected to be. Someone who wasn't Djaq was leaning over him.

"Do you really think he's going to die?" It was the voice of the man the others had called Wat.

"Would it matter to you if he did?" Djaq bit out. "Or do you only care about your pardons and your payments?"

Taking a hostage was Robin's best chance. From what he'd learned, these people weren't like the Sheriff or Gisborne. They almost seemed like they genuinely cared about each other – they laughed, they joked, they actually _talked_ to one another. Whether they'd intended that to happen along the way or not, it had from what Robin could tell. And he was confident the others would drop their weapons if he held one of them at the blade of the dagger.

Wat leaned a little closer. "He looks to be breathing all right. Is that a good sign?"

_Three, two, one_ …

Robin's one hand clamped around the hilt of the dagger just as his other hand shot out, grabbing a startled Wat by the arm. Within the space of a breath, Robin had the point of the dagger at Wat's throat. "I am not a physician, but I would say it is a good sign."

"Master!" Much cried as Little John made some muffled noise that might've been a relieved shout of "Robin!"

Slowly, Robin stood, keeping a hold on Wat and the point of the dagger pressed dangerously close to his throat. He offered a brief glance at Wat's companions. "Drop your weapons."

Out of the corner of his eye, Robin noticed the friar, Tuck, dropped his quarterstaff and dagger without hesitation, as if the thought of fighting them had never crossed his mind.

"Please, don't hurt him," the girl, Sarah, said as she raised her hands to show she possessed no weapons. And maybe it was the knock on the head, but Robin had the insane urge to comment on the irony of that. Don't hurt him, but she had no problem clubbing Robin, Will, Djaq, Much, and Little John over the head to deliver them to torture and death at the hands of Prince John.

The man they had called David was not as compliant. His grip remained firm on the longsword, and his position suggested he was prepared for a fight.

"Drop it, or I will kill him." Did Robin want to? No, not entirely. Yet at the same time, his nerves were stretched, his temper hanging by a fragile thread. These four had tracked him and his friends, knocked him and his friends over the head, and tied them to trees with every intention of returning them to a merciless Prince John … not to mention Robin had no idea at the moment what – or if – anything had occurred at Knighton. Marian needed him (maybe she hadn't _actually_ said that, but Robin liked to think she needed him), but these four had kept Robin from that promise to watch over her – to keep her safe when the Sheriff and Gisborne confronted her and Sir Edward, which was only a matter of time. If _anything_ had happened to her … but before Robin could finish that thought David finally, after first apparently needing the time to measure if he actually believed Robin would kill Wat, reluctantly dropped the sword.

Well, at least Robin had made the right call about that. This group had formed a bond with each other they probably never realized they had until one of them was threatened.

Yet, unfortunately, while he'd taken a chance and been correct in his assumption, more or less, Robin underestimated David. Before he or Djaq could react, David grabbed Djaq, pulling out a small, thin stiletto blade he'd kept easily concealed until that moment. He held the tip at Djaq's heart, and Robin knew just how lethal those tiny blades could be. Many knights concealed them in the Holy Land because during close range combat, the stiletto was efficient at slipping through chainmail or gaps in armor and piercing deep. Positioned as it was on Djaq's chest, Robin could easily see the point penetrating quickly, enough to pierce her heart.

"Nice trick, Locksley," David said. "But you've had your fun. Let Wat go, and I won't kill the Saracen."

"Robin, no," Djaq said.

"Drop your weapon, Locksley," David ordered. "I'm not bloody fooling! I will kill your pet Saracen."

And there wasn't even a need for Robin to debate about his choice. He knew how fast Djaq would die if David jabbed that blade in. He shoved Wat away from him and dropped the dagger, raising his hands out to his sides.

"Let her go."

The girl, Sarah, appeared shocked, and Wat looked shaken, probably having just watched his entire life flash by him as he faced death at the edge of a dagger. Tuck retrieved the fallen quarterstaff while David kept his tight grip on Djaq.

And fortunes shifted again with seconds as Tuck raised the quarterstaff, cracking David over the back of the head. Djaq slipped away as David's hold loosened, and recovered David's abandoned longsword before she straightened, prepared to fight. Meanwhile, the stiletto slid from David's hand before he fell forward, out cold.

Wat dove for the dagger Robin had just dropped moments ago. Noticing the movement, Robin went for it too, and he was quicker. But before Robin could grasp the hilt, Wat's fist caught him on the jaw, snapping his head back. Before he had time to think, Robin's fist snapped out, nailing a solid hit to Wat's face. Forgetting the weapon, the two circled each other while Djaq kept the other two cornered – or, more precisely, Djaq kept Sarah from entering the fray.

No, Robin didn't want to kill the red haired man who looked no older than him, but he wanted to _hit_ something. The two exchanged blows – stomach, face, anything Robin could get a clear shot at, he took. When his eye caught the glint of the forgotten dagger, Robin ducked and rolled out of the way of a fierce aggressive strike from Wat. He palmed the hilt of the dagger, and as Robin straightened, he confronted Wat with the edge of a blade for the second time.

"Should we try this again?" Robin asked. "I hate to repeat myself, but if either one of you move, I _will_ kill him." And at the moment, Robin didn't care that the friar had helped them by taking David down. At the moment, he wasn't sure what to make of it, and he wasn't taking anymore chances, so until he had the opportunity to evaluate the situation, the friar was getting tied up with the rest.

"Djaq," Robin said.

Without her needing him to specify what he wanted, Djaq quickly set about cutting Much and Little John loose. After those two were freed and able to help the situation, she went over to the unconscious Will and carefully undid the ropes binding him.

Robin kept Wat at the point of the dagger as Much and Little John secured the other three with the discarded ropes. When they finished, Robin shoved Wat in the direction of Little John, allowing him to tie Wat up with the others as Robin turned and walked over to Djaq and Will.

"Will he be all right?"

Djaq looked up at Robin. "His pulse is strong. The injuries will hurt, but he will be fine." The relief that swept over Djaq's expression after she'd been assured there was nothing seriously wrong with Will was obvious. And perhaps if the whole situation facing them at the moment weren't as dire, Robin might've smiled at that. She wouldn't admit it yet, but she cared about Will. Maybe not love, not yet, but her rather more than friendship feelings for him shone through in those few seconds while her guard was down as she searched Will for fatal or unseen wounds.

"Where is Allan?" Much asked as he joined Djaq and Robin.

Sadly enough, that question hung unanswered in the air for longer than it should have. It should have been automatic for Robin to say Allan was still at Knighton, or that Allan had escaped the attackers and was now coming up with a plan to save them. But that answer didn't come to Robin, at least not as easily as it should have.

Had their faith in Allan been shattered that completely? In the few moments he'd actually had to think about it since it happened, Robin reasoned that Allan and Will assumed the danger was over – that King Richard was returning and there was no harm in taking an opportunity to look out for their own future well being. They hadn't run from danger to save themselves; they'd just left, presuming Nottingham would no longer need Robin Hood and his gang of outlaws.

"Much, get the horses," Robin ordered. "We have to go to Knighton, and we have to go now. Allan must still be there." And Djaq and Much appeared relieved to hear Robin say that so they couldn't dwell on their own doubts. If Robin said Allan was still there, then Allan was still there. Robin turned to Djaq. "Take care of Will, but I need you and John to question them. Find out everything – anything – you can, especially from the friar. He may be an ally."

"I understand," Djaq replied.

Robin gathered his weapons – bow, quiver, arrows, sword, and dagger – which the attackers had piled near the campfire and bed rolls.

"Robin," Djaq said as Much brought the horses around, "go quickly and keep watch. The Sheriff may use Knighton as a trap."

Having figured the same thing himself, Robin nodded as he swung a leg over the back of the mare. "We will return soon."

* * *

As Robin and Much disappeared, Little John joined Djaq. "If the Sheriff's got her already, you don't think they would go to Nottingham alone?" 

Djaq shook her head. "Much would not let him." As soon as she said it, she realized the absurdity of that statement. She met Little John's almost amused expression. Much tried, but Robin rarely listened to the exasperation of the former manservant. "Much would at least tell him it is a bad idea, and I do not think Robin would be so foolish." _That_ at least made more sense and seemed more likely.

"Robin would want to."

Of course, if Robin discovered the Sheriff and Gisborne had already been at Knighton Hall and Marian was nowhere to be found he would want to gallop headlong through the gates of Nottingham Castle. He would not want to wait, and he would not want to plan. But despite his instinct and desire to ride to Marian's rescue, he was smart enough to realize he'd be riding directly into a trap. The Sheriff would expect it.

At least, that was what Djaq hoped. But when it came to Marian, Djaq saw something in Robin that was desperate and dangerous. If something had happened to her, would Robin be able to think rationally? Or would he be ready and willing to take on the whole of Nottingham Castle – the Sheriff and Gisborne included – by himself in order to save her? Djaq suspected he would, but she had to hope Robin's common sense, of which he had plenty of, would steady him from such a rash choice.

"This I do not like," Little John grumbled, and Djaq agreed with that simple assessment. But there was nothing they could do. She and Little John had prisoners to watch over and question, and she had to tend to Will. The two of them could not just leave and follow Robin and Much in order to keep Robin from taking a hasty course of action.

"Give me a moment with Will," Djaq said. "And then we will question them."

"Is he all right?"

Djaq nodded. "He will be." Satisfied, Little John returned to the four prisoners and stood towering over them. The three of them who were awake did not seem pleased with the menacing giant's presence.

Before she returned to Will, Djaq cleaned the blade of a dagger in the hot water. She then retrieved blankets and rags, dipping one of the rags in the hot water and wringing it out. Kneeling beside Will once more, she gently washed the dried blood from his face, which made the injuries look less severe. As Djaq finished cleaning his face, she was startled when he groaned and muttered something that sounded like, "My head."

"Will?" Djaq questioned.

Slowly, hesitantly, Will tried to open his eyes, which proved difficult since they were swelling shut from the broken nose. She'd have to set that. "Djaq? What -?"

"You were attacked. Your nose is broken, and your eyes are swelling shut," Djaq explained.

"Who?" His voice was groggy, and he still seemed to be moving between consciousness and unconsciousness.

"Men working for Prince John," Djaq replied. "We have them tied up."

"Oh, good," Will murmured as his eyes drifted shut. Then, something roused Will, and he shot up. "Robin, where is he? The Sheriff and Gisborne … I left Allan to warn you the Sheriff was at Knighton. We have to go back."

Djaq's breath caught. Her first thought was that Robin and Much would be walking into a trap. Then her second thought was that Marian was in danger, and Robin … "John!"

"What is it, Djaq? Will …?" Little John noticed Will sitting up. "Oh," he said with a small sigh of relief as if he'd expected to find Will dying or already dead. "Good to see you're awake."

"The Sheriff and Gisborne are at Knighton," Djaq said quickly. She didn't have to say anything more for Little John to understand what she wanted. He needed to warn Robin of the potential threat before Robin and Much reached Knighton, and he needed to keep Robin from charging into Nottingham Castle – without the others and without a solid plan - after Marian, assuming that's where she and her father would end up after the Sheriff and Gisborne conducted their little visit. Much wouldn't be able to convince Robin not to go. In fact, Much would no doubt follow him.

"We're going with you," Will said, and he went to stand up. Meanwhile, Little John was already gone, and Djaq admitted the large man could move quickly when necessity demanded it.

"No," Djaq said, putting a hand on Will's shoulder and shoving him back down. "We are not going anywhere at the moment, especially you. You cannot even see right."

"But they'll need us," Will protested.

"We have to trust them to handle this," Djaq replied even though she wanted to take off for Knighton as much as Will did. Leaving them to face potential jeopardy on their own was not something Djaq liked. They stood together, not apart. "And we have prisoners, people who would take us to London and see us handed over to Prince John. We cannot leave them unwatched."

"We can't stay here and do nothing. What if they're caught?"

"Then we will deal with it," Djaq said. "We will think of something, and we will handle it."

"Just you and me?"

Djaq raised an eyebrow. "You do not think we are capable?"

"Yes, but -"

"We will worry about it if they are caught," Djaq interrupted. "Now, would you like to be able to see again?"

Will frowned. "What are you going to do?"

"Give you a small cut to drain the fluid. Do you trust me to do that?"

"Of course I trust you," Will replied.

Djaq retrieved the dagger. "Hold still," Djaq murmured. She tilted Will's head and positioned the tip of the blade on the tender, puffy skin around his eyes.

"Of course, I wouldn't want you doing this if you were angry with me."

Djaq almost smiled. "Then it is a good thing I am not angry."

No, with Will she wasn't angry just … a little disappointed in his actions. And that confused her most of all because, well, when had it happened? When did she start to feel differently for him? She couldn't say. But those thoughts and feelings would be there to sort through on another day … on another day when she wasn't worried and her friends were safe, sitting around the nightly campfire where they could take a moment to be themselves and enjoy each others company – when they could forget, if only for a little while, the Sheriff and Gisborne and all the reasons why this merciless world needed Robin Hood and his gang to be heroes.

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was one of my favorites to write so far. I just didn't want Tuck to be solely responsible for getting them out of this mess because I'd like to think Robin's clever enough to think his way out of just about anything … not to mention he always has a good bit of luck on his side :) 

In other news, I get to spend the upcoming weekend with the in-laws (oh, what fun … said with the utmost sarcasm I can muster), so I can't be sure when the next update will be :(

Eek! Okay, I know this is long, but I talk too much. I can't help it.

Many thanks to … hardyboyfansrock … As always thank you! And I will always try my best to keep updating in a reasonable manner, especially when I drop evil cliffhangers … though sometimes life can have other plans unfortunately, which makes me sad because I hate not being able to write :( … GreggoAddict … Thank you much for the review! Though I seem to be torturing the outlaws quite a bit, I could _never_ really hurt Robin … wouldn't be much of a Robin Hood series without him :) … Threll … Thank you so much, I greatly appreciate the review! And I'm so glad you're enjoying it, especially the backstory to tell a little bit about the other characters. Perhaps that's why I didn't like it – I was worried it might bog down the story. Though, if you asked, I'd tell you I don't much like anything I write, being that I'm my own worst critic. I overly scrutinize everything and always think I can do better. And I truly hope I can keep doing you proud where Allan is concerned … if he ever seems to go AU on you or anything, let me know. (It probably means I need to bust out my copy of the first season again to watch it and reacquaint myself with the characters). It's so very challenging to write for characters that you love but that aren't yours ... I keep going over things they say and try to imagine the actors saying those lines, which can get really overwhelming. Again, thank you! … DeanParker … Thank you much for the review! I could never kill Robin … just wouldn't be much of a story without him, lol. Thanks again! I'm so glad you're enjoying it! … Capt. Cow … As always, your reviews are much appreciated! Hopefully the BBC will go into some more depth about their leaving, but I suppose we can only leave that up to the show's writers. Oh, and I totally agree about Tuck … he has never been a favorite character of mine either. But I figure the BBC is going to throw him in there at some point though – probably during the second season. Whether I enjoy his character or not though, he's such a huge part of the legend, so I wanted to introduce the character (who may or may not become permanent in some sense if I choose to write more fics after this one … I haven't quite decided yet what will happen to him). After all, over here in the US, we've got a LONG wait for the next season, which gives me lots of time to think of how much trouble I can get the outlaws into :) I'm glad though that I've been able to make you like Tuck's character! … scully42 … lol, well see, I didn't keep you waiting too long for Robin :) I couldn't have that man be unconscious for much longer. We need Robin! As always, thank you for the review, and it does my writing heart good to hear you're enjoying it. Always makes me smile to hear that :) … Brennan on the Moor … Thank you so much for the review! I'm glad I was able to entertain you when television proved uninteresting (don't you hate that? I've got 500 hundred channels, and there's _never_ anything on, lol). I'm happy to hear you think I've got the characters down – always a concern for me. It's certainly difficult to get their voices right. I can totally sympathize there! Thanks again! … SeaStarr … lol, yes I know it was a bit evil of me. I try not to be evil, but I can't help it :) I'm so glad you're enjoying it, and as always, thank you so much for the positive feedback and review! … MontyPythonFan … As always, thank you much for the review! Definitely nothing wrong with watching the last two episodes (which are, in my opinion are the best of the first season). I think I've watched them quite a few times myself … or a hundred. I don't know - I lost track :) Thanks again! … Marjatta … Thank you so much for the kind words! I greatly appreciate it. I'm glad you like the aspect of Prince John being introduced. I tend to think it's only a matter of time before the show actually does. He makes such a fabulous villain that it's hard to ignore his character. I have to agree too, I think Marian tends to be a tad bit too protective of her father. I realize he's older, but I definitely don't think he's incapable of taking care of himself. And Marian being just peachy the day after almost dying was a bit of a stretch, so I definitely couldn't help but having that play at least a little part in the story. I'm glad you liked it! Thank you again! … YouLuvMeCosImCrazy … Thank you so much! I greatly appreciate all the kind support. There is a good bit going on, and I'm so glad you're enjoying it, but I have to admit, it makes me feel a bit bad because now it's been two chapters since we've seen Allan and like three since Marian's been around. With everyone in different place, it makes it harder to keep up with all those crazy kids :) Again, thank you much for the review!


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Nope, not mine.

**A/N: **Thank you for reading and as always enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 9**

"Oi, can't a man get his self a decent last meal around here? Or at least a spoon?"

Allan glanced down at the gooey, shapeless, colorless contents of the dirty wooden bowl in his hands. He assumed he was supposed to eat with his fingers. Except, he had no idea what it was he was eating. He didn't even have a guess. It could range from mashed up rat brains to … well, to other equally unsavory stuff.

"Not bein' funny, but there isn't enough gold in England that'd make me eat this."

"Sorry about your luck then," the jailer said, not looking the least bit sorry in Allan's opinion. With his pot belly and heavy jowls, Allan figured _he_ at least ate well.

"You've got to have bread or something. Take pity on a bloke who's got less than a day to live."

"Bread?" the jailer asked. "You'd like some bread, would you?"

"Well, yeah, it'd be nice."

The jailer returned to the cell door and placed a half a loaf of bread – or what probably _used_ to be bread – in Allan's hand. "We usually feed it to the rats, but I guess I can take pity on you."

"Not bein' funny," Allan said, "but I think it's a bit overcooked."

"No, that's mold."

"Oh, good, even better," Allan muttered as the jailer had himself a good laugh over that. "Glad you're so bloody amused."

The jailer continued to chuckle as he began to shuffle away, and Allan smiled to himself. Right. How much more trouble could he really get himself into? The lump of stale bread was nearly as hard as a rock, and Allan grinned when he lined up the perfect shot and hit the stupid jailer right in the back of his stupid head.

The jailer spun around, a snarl on his face. Apparently, he didn't find _that_ too amusing. "Sorry mate," Allan said innocently. "Thought I saw a hungry rat – nasty, fat bugger with lots of black, greasy hair."

"You, outlaw, are very lucky the Sheriff ordered me not to hurt you. He wants that pleasure all for himself."

"Yeah, lucky me," Allan replied, figuring he could do without his current string of luck. "Course though that makes me an important prisoner – what with the Sheriff his self wanting to torture me and all. Don't you usually feed important prisoners better? You know, so they don't die of starvation _before_ the torture session?"

"If you're so worried, then I guess you'd better eat what I gave you."

"I'm not in the habit of eating what I can't name. And this," Allan paused, raising the bowl, "isn't even food. It's … well, I don't even know what_ it_ is."

"Would you prefer it if it had a name?" the jailer asked with a sneer.

Allan shrugged. "No, but I am curious if it's got a name."

"We call it slop."

"Sounds delicious, really. Give my compliments to the cook. Now, could I have some real food?" Allan wondered how long it would take before the vein bulging above the jailer's eye would take to pop. Another few minutes, maybe.

"You eat what we give you, or you don't eat at all," the jailer snapped.

"Can I at least have a spoon?"

Allan wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone's face turn quite that shade of red before. The jailer cursed. "You said you didn't want it."

"Well, here's what I thought. If I had a spoon, I could scoop out some of this … slop, and then, well, you know, use it for target practice when some of these hungry rats you mentioned show up."

With that, the jailer threw up his hands and walked away, muttering expletives Allan was sure he had never even heard. And Allan had a colorful vocabulary.

"Oi, you're just going to leave me unarmed when the rats attack?"

More cursing.

"You should tell the Sheriff to hire a new cook."

If there was anymore cursing, Allan didn't hear it as the main door to the dungeons clanged shut. Great. He was alone again, and he really didn't want that. Well, he shouldn't say he was alone, but he might as well be. Marian was slumped against the wall in the corner. They'd brought her in shortly after Gisborne introduced him to the Rack. She hadn't moved since except to mumble things in her sleep. And Allan had no idea where Marian's father was. Aside from that, the Nottingham dungeons had plenty of vacant cells because he and Marian were the only occupants.

So … right. He was alone. No one to fill the silence, no one to irritate since he'd chased the jailer away, and no one or nothing to keep his mind off what was going to happen to him tomorrow. He didn't like to take life too seriously. He didn't dwell on things too much or worry about what would happen day to day. But it was kind of hard to ignore the device Gisborne showed him. It was kind of hard to ignore the idea of being stretched until his joints popped. He'd dislocated his shoulder once. It certainly hadn't felt great, and it wasn't something he was really anxious to experience again … not to mention the idea of torn muscles and whatever other ideas the Sheriff and Gisborne had in mind for him. Allan wasn't stupid enough to think the Rack was all they planned for tomorrow.

He'd never been methodically tortured. Sure, he'd been in fights, and he'd seen the losing end of quite a few. He'd even been whipped before when he'd been caught thieving. But never something compared to what he faced now.

Aside from that, the silence made Allan think about a lot of things he didn't want to think about, and he hated it. He wondered if he'd ever sit around the campfire again and joke about Much's cooking or tell one of his stories that always gave the others a good laugh. Who would keep Will from being too serious about himself and life if Allan wasn't around? Would Will even ever tell Djaq he loved her? Who would front man all of Robin's crazy schemes? None of them played a part or lied quite as well as Allan. Would any of them even realize he counted all of them as friends, the only good ones he'd ever had?

Then Allan wondered which cell his brother Tom had been in, and he wondered if the Sheriff had taken pleasure in torturing him. Allan would never know. After they'd heard Tom and his companions had been arrested, the next time Allan saw his brother, Tom had been hanging from the end of a rope. Then, Allan wondered if he'd live long enough to hang, or if the Sheriff and Gisborne would see him dead on that table tomorrow.

All this thinking was putting Allan in a foul mood. If he was going to think about anything, he should think about Robin and the others coming up with some bloody brilliant – most likely suicidal, but still brilliant – plan. They'd figure a way into Nottingham Castle, like they always did, and they'd rescue the prisoners, like they always did.

But they hadn't been able to save Roy. And, even though Allan initially told them not to, they hadn't been able to save Tom either. _That_ put a damper on his almost – not quite, but almost – happy thoughts of being rescued before the Sheriff and Gisborne had their fun.

He hated thinking too much. He really, really did.

* * *

Little John caught up with Robin and Much not long before they reached Knighton, informing them what Will managed to tell Djaq. As the three men neared the edge of Sherwood and Knighton Hall came into view through the trees, Robin realized he would've known the Sheriff and Gisborne had already been here even if Little John hadn't reached them and told them. 

Knighton Hall was quiet.

That really should not have been all that unusual, but there was something unnatural about this quiet that haunted him and deep down a nagging voice kept telling him he would not find Marian inside. He knew, but he was not ready to accept it. He'd have to see for himself. Until his own eyes could confirm that Marian was not safe at Knighton, then his mind and heart would continue to cling to that obstinate hope, telling him Marian was in fact there because logically – _logically_ – he couldn't lose her again. He'd almost lost her because of his decision to take up the cross and follow King Richard to war against Saladin. Now, in the past few days, he watched her almost slip away twice. After all of that, could life really be as cruel as to attempt taking her away again? _No_, and his stubborn thoughts clung to that simple answer. It was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment.

Though it took tremendous restraint, Robin held his position, waiting for Much and Little John who were searching the perimeter of the forest around Knighton for Allan. Much returned first, only shrugging and shaking his head to indicate he'd found no sign of Allan.

"Can you see anything?" Much asked quietly, nodding toward the manor.

"No, nothing." And Robin knew he should wait for John to return, but he didn't want to. He'd waited long enough.

Seeming to sense Robin's impatience, Much said, "We should wait for John."

As if he hadn't heard Much, Robin said, "The shutter in Marian's window is closed, but it may not be latched. I will see if I can get in that way."

"What if the Sheriff's men are in there?" Much asked.

"Then I will signal you from Marian's window."

"Master, I do not like this. You should wait for John."

"Well, we cannot just stand here. I am tired of waiting," Robin returned.

Before Much could argue further about how the house might be filled with the Sheriff's guards laying in wait for Robin, Robin slipped across the grass to the same spot he'd found himself so many times since returning to England. It was one of the few places he'd been able to steal a few, private moments alone with her. Robin hoisted himself up on the bar beside her window and then moved close enough to tap the shutter over the window. It moved outward slowly, slightly, indicating it was not latched.

Robin waited a moment, listening for any movement inside. Nothing. This time, Robin pushed the wooden shutter a bit further, letting it swing open. He ducked away, pressing his back against the wall and listened again. Still nothing. There was no indication that there was anyone inside Marian's room.

Slowly, Robin inched closer again and peered around the edge of the window. As he figured, there was no one inside, but the sight that met Robin's eyes made his heart drop and his blood run cold.

Marian's room was a mess – her possessions strewn chaotically about, littering the floor and the bed. And that thread – that small, stubborn hope – snapped. He was losing her again. She may already be lost. Robin glanced around the room, realizing the Sheriff's visit was nothing if not hostile. They'd been searching for something. Evidence, perhaps? Did it really matter? Either way, they had her.

Struggling to remain calm, or as calm as absolutely possible, Robin crept silently to the open door and looked out over the landing into the great room below. It was clear except, to Robin's surprise, for a young boy sitting beside the hearth, twirling some small object absently between his fingers. Robin thought he recognized him as one of the boys from the village who worked in the stable.

Still not taking any chances in case someone was hiding below the stairs, Robin readied his bow. When he stepped out onto the landing, the little boy started at the sight of him, and he jumped up. "Robin Hood," was all he said in utter awe.

"Are you alone here?" Robin asked.

The boy nodded vigorously. "Sheriff's men left awhile ago – took Sir Edward and Lady Marian."

Robin made his way down the steps, still not lowering his weapon. After taking a look around to be assured it was only the boy, Robin finally lowered the bow. He admitted he was surprised the Sheriff hadn't used Knighton as a trap. But perhaps the Sheriff preferred the idea of laying a trap at Nottingham Castle where Robin and the others would inevitably end up after finding Marian and Edward gone.

"Gisborne wanted me to give you this," the boy said, breaking Robin from his thoughts.

The boy stepped closer, handing Robin a small, carved wooden tag attached to a string – the tag all his men wore, identifying them as part of Robin's gang.

It was Allan's.

As Robin stared at the tag in his hand, he thought about how angry he'd been with Allan and Will, how disappointed he'd been to see the two of them take off, even though Robin reasoned they'd just been looking out for their futures and that they hadn't meant to hurt anyone or abandon Robin and the others to danger. And maybe a part of him hadn't blamed Will half as much as he blamed Allan. He knew both of them well enough to realize it hadn't been Will's idea. In fact, it had probably taken a bit of talking on Allan's part to convince Will to leave with the gold from Gisborne. And in the end, Allan wanted to tell a lie about the whole situation, but Will immediately came out with the truth, which made it easier to forgive Will.

But as Robin stared at the tag in his hand – the proof that Allan had done what he could to stop the Sheriff and Gisborne – he'd never doubt Allan again, he wouldn't.

Finally, Robin looked back at the boy. "Did he say anything else?"

"He did," the boy said with a nod. "He said he had a message. He says Lady Marian looks to be hurting from a stab wound. He said it was a gift from him in Locksley. What do you suppose he means by that?"

Those words felt like taking a solid punch to the stomach … or perhaps a blade in the gut. Gisborne and the Sheriff knew she was a traitor. They _knew_ Marian was the Nightwatchman. Panic, rage, and genuine fear uncoiled in his chest, suffocating him.

He was going to lose her.

"But you're Robin Hood," the boy said as if that solved everything. "You'll save them. You always save people."

But in that moment, Robin couldn't see a single face of a person he'd saved. All he saw were the ones he didn't – the men he lost on the battlefield, the people here in Nottingham he hadn't saved from the Sheriff … Roy … Tom. What if he couldn't rescue Allan or Edward? What if he couldn't save Marian?

She was gone, her life was in jeopardy. When the real King Richard finally returned to England, Robin would be pardoned and he would return to Locksley Manor as the rightful heir and lord, but what would that mean without Marian? Without her that dream was nothing. Without her, _he_ was nothing. During his darkest hours in the Holy Land, it was never so much the thought of home but the thought of her that kept him sane. At Acre when the fever raged, when he lay dying from a stab wound Gisborne – not a Saracen – had inflicted, his only coherent thoughts were of Marian. He loved her. He was a fool for ever leaving her. He had so many things to say to her, but he was going to die in a foreign land without ever saying them, without her ever knowing. By the grace of God, he'd survived and thought he'd been given a second chance, a chance to make things right with her and live the life they should've had. But he was still waiting for that second chance, still waiting for him and Marian to find that place for them together in this world.

He might be waiting forever because the Sheriff and Gisborne were determined to take everything away from him.

"You'll save them … right?"

Lost in his own mess of thoughts, Robin had almost forgotten the boy still standing in front of him, looking up at him as if he were more than just a flesh and blood man – looking at him as if he could perform miracles and save the entire world.

"Are the horses still in the stable?" Robin asked. The boy nodded. "Good, thank you. I need you to go home now and stay away from Knighton Hall. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the boy replied. At the door, he paused. "You'll bring them back, won't you? They're good people, and I like them. You won't let the Sheriff hurt them, right?"

"No," Robin said, and the word came out as a strangled whisper.

As the boy darted off, Robin clutched the wooden tag in his hand. He gripped it until the edges bit into his flesh. He didn't believe in unnecessary bloodshed. He'd seen enough blood spilled to last him ten lifetimes. But this … this was necessary. And he was going to kill Gisborne, and he was going to kill the Sheriff. Twice … _twice_ now they'd almost taken Marian from him, more specifically Gisborne.

He would kill them. And he would kill anyone who stood in his way.

* * *

Much shifted his weight from one foot to the other, keeping hold of the reins Robin had tossed his way, not that the even-tempered horses were in danger of bolting if he didn't keep his white knuckle grip on the reins. And, of course, even if he were holding the reins, he certainly would not keep them from galloping off if they really wanted to. But really, the horses were not an issue. It was only that Much had little else to consider unless he wanted to worry about Robin and why his master had not yet given him some kind of signal from Marian's window. There were no sounds of a struggle going on inside Knighton Hall so Much considered that a good sign. 

Still, Much did not just want to continued standing here, waiting. Before he could think long about how much he hated waiting, Little John returned. "No Allan," Little John said quietly. "Where is Robin?"

Much pointed toward Marian's window. "He climbed inside through there and said he would signal if the Sheriff's men were waiting downstairs."

"Robin didn't, did he?"

Much shook his head.

"How long?"

"Long enough," Much replied.

"Hear anything?"

"No," Much answered. "It has been quiet."

"I think the Sheriff wants us to go to Nottingham," John suggested. "There doesn't look to be any soldiers here. So then, let's see what Robin's up to."

Though by this point, they could almost be certain the Sheriff hadn't used Knighton as a trap, caution was still prudent. Armed, Much and John quickly crossed the open distance between Sherwood Forest and Knighton Hall. As they crept along the side of the stables, Much heard movement inside. Much peered through the open cracks in the wooden panels. And it should not have surprised him to see his master saddling Marian's white mare, trying to leave without Much or Little John realizing until it was too late.

For the people Robin loved, Much knew his master would ride into the fiercest of battles, against the most overwhelming odds – he would forsake his own life for the ones he loved, for those he felt he had a responsibility to protect. But when it came to Lady Marian, there was a single-minded determination that gripped his master and eradicated all common sense and rationale. Anyone who hurt her would die. Despite his master's newfound appreciation for life and the consequences of taking lives, when it came to Marian, his master's views were profoundly different. Robin would kill for her because … well, the only way Much could see it was because Robin loved Marian more than he cared about himself. She was a part of him.

But this … well, this was suicidal. Robin could not just ride through the gates of Nottingham Castle and expect anything to occur but his own swift death. Except, right now, he was not thinking. He was only feeling, and a blind rage had apparently taken over, otherwise Robin would not be attempting to slip off without the knowledge of Much or John.

"Do you see anything?" Little John hissed. "Is it Robin?"

"Yes, my master ready to ride off to Nottingham Castle without us."

John shook his head with a sigh. "This he will not like," John grumbled, though Much wasn't quite sure what the large man was referring to. "But someone needs to knock some sense into him."

Though the stables were not enormous, there was enough space for the horse to be spurred into a decent gallop before striding through the stable entrance … where Little John used the quarterstaff to catch Robin in the chest. It wasn't a hard blow – nothing meant to cause serious damage – but it was enough to knock Robin off balance. Much watched as his master rolled over backwards off the horse's back, but he at least managed to land on his feet … sort of. It wasn't the most graceful landing, but it wasn't exactly a fall either. Despite the landing, Robin straightened quickly and without much hesitation, Robin did something Much wasn't expecting his master to do. He took a swing at Little John.

And Little John wasn't about to stand down from any man trying to fight him, even if it was Robin.

"Stop this!" Much shouted, trying to be the voice of reason before the two men came to an all out brawl right in front of Knighton Hall. "What is that matter with you? Master!"

"Stay out of this, Much."

"I most certainly will not." Much positioned himself in between Little John and Robin, but he faced Robin. "You cannot save Marian by fighting John. How is that helping her? Is this how she would want to see you?"

That, at least, seemed to dampen Robin's determination to fight John, though his fists were still clenched. "I was not here," Robin said with a low, vehement voice. "The Sheriff and Gisborne came here, but I was not here. I promised her, and I … I do not have time to wait. Marian may not have time. Allan, Edward … there is _no_ time."

"Allan?"

Much caught the tag Robin tossed at him as Robin replied, "They have Allan too."

Much looked at the tag in his hand, realizing he'd misjudged the man, and he was wrong to have doubted him even though Allan's actions didn't always lead people to believe he was the most self-sacrificing man in the world. But this also made Much realize they were short an ally and had one more prisoner to rescue from Nottingham. Still, regardless of how many prisoners the Sheriff had, it didn't make Robin's decision to rush headlong into danger right.

"You are still being … you are being unreasonable," Much finally said. "We are all worried about Marian and her father. And we are all worried about Allan. But you cannot just ride into Nottingham without a plan. What good are you to her if the Sheriff locks you up? We have to think. And I am sure if we all just _think_ we can come up with something."

"Listen to him, Robin," Little John said quietly, leaning against the support of his quarterstaff.

"Master," Much continued, "please just … I know you love her. And I know if anything happens … but we cannot save her or her father or Allan by charging into Nottingham. You know that."

"We go back to camp," John said. "We talk about things with Will and Djaq. We plan. We do not go to Nottingham without a plan, and we only go to Nottingham together."

"All of us care about them," Much said. "It is not … it is not up to you alone to – well, to rescue them. We will do this together."

Much was satisfied enough to get a nod out of Robin. Wearily, his master returned to Marian's white mare which had stopped not long after Little John knocked Robin off the horse. Robin left Much and John to follow which they did quickly to keep an eye on him. But Much knew Robin was over the initial instinct that made him impulsive in his actions. His life didn't matter if people he cared about were in peril, especially if that person was Marian. But at least they'd managed to calm him to some degree of rational thinking.

Now, they could return to camp and work out a plan. Much would feel a good bit better about that if he had the first idea _what_ exactly that plan would be.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry this update took a little while. I hope you all enjoyed! 

Many thanks to … scully42 … As always, thank you for the kind words. I'm glad you liked the plan :) Marian was supposed to make it into this chapter, but no matter how I wrote it, her scene just didn't work out. But we will get back to her soon, I promise! Thank you again … Capt. Cow … Again, thank you. I truly appreciate all the support. Glad you liked the bit with Will and Djaq (now that he's conscious of course). I heard BBC America wasn't going to air the second season until October 2008, and I'm so hoping that information was wrong … Marjatta … Glad you liked it! I hope to make Tuck something of a likeable character, as he's never been one of my favorites, so we'll see. Thank you again, I really appreciate it … GreggoAddict … Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked the plan. I had fun writing it :) Hopefully Will _will_ stay conscious for the rest of the story, but you never know … MontyPythonFan … As always thank you! Robin makes a great hero, doesn't he? lol, I'm so glad you're enjoying it … Threll … As always, thank you. I appreciate all the kind words. I agree, writing your own characters is always a challenge, but this is definitely more difficult. Though my husband may not agree (he's definitely _not_ a Robin Hood fan), I think any reason is a good reason to watch the show again :) I hope you enjoyed the bit with Allan, and I hope he stayed true to character. Again, thank you! … hardyboyfansrock … As always, thank you for the support! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying the story :) … Dr. Nat … Thank you so much for the kind words! I really do appreciate them. Robin does have a tendency to be irrational, especially where Marian's concerned. I just hope I was able to pull off that bit of irrationality on his part without, of course, making him ride all the way to Nottingham, which just would not be a good idea :) Thank you again! … Brennan on the Moor … Thank you so much! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. Robin can be pretty devious when he needs to be, can't he? lol. Thank you again … SeaStarr … thank you much for the kind words! I could be wrong, but I remember seeing them do that in boxing (or maybe it was in one of the Rocky movies) where they cut around the eyes so the boxer can see. As I was writing that part, that just kind of came to me, so I went with it. Again, thank you, I appreciate it, and I'm glad you're enjoying! … Boys Don't Cry … Thank you so much! I'm glad to see you're enjoying it. Time with the in-laws is always one of my least favorite things to do, but its part of life unfortunately. Oh well, at least it's over. Again thank you! ... RynAnn ... Thanks so much, glad you're enjoying! Allan is a cutie, isn't he? I wish I could assure you he'll be fine, but, well, I can't give anything away :) Thank you again! ... DeanParker ... Thanks so much! As always, I'm glad to hear you are enjoying it. I'm also glad you like Will and Djaq together :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **Nope, not mine.

**A/N: **Well, I will be getting my Harry Potter book tomorrow at midnight :D As such, I will be unable to write anything until I finish it, which probably won't take longer than a day, but the weekends are my most productive writing time, and I'll lose some of that because of reading. As always, thank you much for reading and enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

"Drink this."

Will accepted the small cup from Djaq and sniffed the contents, wrinkling his nose at the rank smell. "This smells like rotten vegetables."

"And it probably tastes like them too," Djaq returned. "But it will help with the headache and the pain."

"It won't help my stomach." But they had been questioning the three conscious hostages for awhile, and Will felt awful. Anything that would stop the pounding rhythm in his head would be welcome, so Will choked down the thick liquid, nearly gagging. Djaq wasn't joking. This had to taste worse than vegetables rotting in the sun for a week. His stomach rebelled for a moment, threatening to purge everything he'd just swallowed and then some, and Will had to press his lips together and draw in a few slow, deep breaths before the nausea passed.

After he finished, Will set the cup aside and glanced over at Djaq. She was currently mashing something else together in another cup, and Will wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what exactly it was. After she finished, Djaq knelt down next to him and dipped her finger in the thin paste before dabbing it along the cuts she'd made near his eyes.

"This will keep it from becoming infected," she explained, though it never occurred to Will to question what she was doing. He trusted Djaq.

The paste was cool on his skin, and it felt good. Will couldn't help but admire Djaq's knowledge, and he often wondered how she'd come to learn all the different uses for plants. There were things he wouldn't even consider anything more than a green leaf, but Djaq could list ten different ways that particular leaf would be useful. And he loved that about her – the fact that she was clever and resourceful. He'd seen his share of competent, capable women, Lady Marian being one of them. But there was something different about Djaq, something that made her special to him. He would never see Lady Marian the way he saw Djaq. Yet despite everything Will knew Djaq was capable of, he sometimes found himself absurdly wanting to take care of her, which he realized she would never accept. She didn't rely on other people, and she certainly didn't expect special treatment because she was a woman. She'd made that clear from the beginning. She was one of them, but that was all part of what made Djaq … well, Djaq. It took a strong person – man or woman – to live the life they did, and he admired her all the more for it.

Djaq sat back on her heels, watching him expectantly. "Does it help?"

Will nodded. "Yes, thank you." His head actually was feeling a good bit better as the pounding retreated to a subtle kind of tapping inside his skull. That, at least, he could tolerate. He glanced over at the friar and the others currently tied up. "What do you make of them?" This entire situation was cause for serious concern. As if it wasn't bad enough they had to worry about the Sheriff and Gisborne, now they had Prince John after them. Not to mention Will wasn't thrilled he'd let the girl Sarah play on his sympathies and catch him off guard. He'd made a grave error in judgment there, and it could've cost his friends far more than it did. As it was, Will had no idea what had happened at Knighton after he left, if the Sheriff caught Allan, if Marian and Edward had been arrested, or if something worse all together had occurred.

Djaq shook her head. "I am not sure. I do not think the friar wishes to harm us any longer."

Will agreed with that assessment. Friar Tuck seemed genuine, and he had smacked David over the head when the man held Djaq at the tip of a knife, a thought that made Will's blood run cold just as anger swelled in his chest. He didn't know the man Tuck called David of Doncaster, but he hated him.

"You are all right, aren't you?" Will asked.

Djaq frowned at him.

"After the knife bit," Will clarified.

"Of course I am all right," Djaq replied, giving him a strange look. "He did not hurt me." Djaq sighed as she stood. "I wish they would come back. I do not like waiting."

But they did not have to wait much longer. As if on cue, Robin, Much, and Little John returned only minutes after Djaq mentioned her dislike for waiting. Much was left to tend to the horses as Robin and Little John joined Will and Djaq. From the expressions on their faces, it didn't take a genius to figure things at Knighton had not gone well.

"Gisborne left a messenger for me. Marian, Edward, and Allan were taken to Nottingham. And they know Marian is the Nightwatchman," Robin announced unceremoniously, summing up the severity of the situation in a few quick words.

Djaq and Will stared at Robin, letting the reality of how bad things really were to sink in. Not only did they have Marian and Edward, but Allan as well. When Will didn't return, Allan must've done what he could, but one man wasn't a match for all the soldiers the Sheriff brought with him. And Will couldn't help but place the blame for it on himself. If he hadn't been so naïve where Sarah was concerned, maybe he could've prevented this somehow. It wasn't realistic, and a part of him understood that, but still … if he hadn't been so stupid, so willing to help someone who he thought at the time had just tried to rob him, well then, maybe things wouldn't be this bad.

As Robin glanced over his shoulder, waiting for Much to join them, Djaq surprised Will by saying, "You cannot blame yourself. We will figure something out."

He hadn't said a word, but she seemed to read his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them. Any other time, Will might have considered that promising if he was ever going to tell Djaq how he felt – the fact she paid enough attention to understand what he was thinking or feeling when he hadn't even opened his mouth. But right now, concern for his friends consumed him, especially Allan. Edward and Marian would require a trial, of that Will was certain. The Sheriff would want to make that kind of example out of them for the other nobles to see, but he would do it carefully because of their status. So Edward and Marian had more time. Allan wouldn't be so lucky. He was one of Robin's men – he could be hanged as quickly as the Sheriff strung up Tom-a-Dale and his companions. Besides, Allan didn't know the meaning of the word tact. His mouth would get him into trouble far quicker than if he stayed silent. But this was Allan. He had something to say about everything.

"We know the Sheriff will have increased security," Robin said as Much joined them. "We know he will be waiting for us. Every turn at the castle will be a trap."

And that was the blunt truth of the situation. Will would never say their stints inside Nottingham Castle had been easy or without danger of being caught, but it never seemed as impossible as it did at this moment. The Sheriff and Gisborne would be prepared for a rescue attempt. That was what they expected and that was what they wanted.

"You can be sure they will search anyone entering Nottingham," Djaq said, voicing the certainty that they could not simply pull up their hoods or use a distraction to enter as they had in the past. They would suspect something like that.

Will hated the silence that followed. Everyone was thinking hard about the situation at hand, about how they could sneak undetected into Nottingham, rescue three prisoners, and escape unscathed. But the silence stretched on.

Will tossed aside ideas in his head left and right. That one was too obvious. That one would never work. That one was suicidal. And Will figured the same thoughts were racing through everyone else's mind, compounded by the worry and fear that their luck against the Sheriff had run its course.

He knew this because the silence was deafening.

* * *

Guy of Gisborne waited silently before the Sheriff's desk with his arms folded. He had been summoned and had arrived nearly ten minutes earlier. The Sheriff had yet to acknowledge his arrival as he poured over his correspondence. But this was nothing unusual. Gisborne was always kept waiting, and with any other man, Gisborne would've made his impatience clear. But as a lord without land, Gisborne's fortunes were precarious at best. Locksley was his only so long as he retained his position by the Sheriff's side. If he slipped, he would fall far and he would fall quickly. Over the years, Gisborne had worked too hard and licked too many boot heels to lose that position. 

At the moment, one of the few things Sir Guy of Gisborne lacked was a wife, a lady who would ensure his place in noble society. For the past couple of months, he assumed that wife would be Lady Marian, a respected young woman of noble birth who not only had the advantage of being physically desirable but she was also the woman Robin Hood loved. Through Marian, the pieces of his life would've fallen into place, the puzzle complete. But in the end, Gisborne realized he'd misjudged her. He knew Marian had a soft heart. He knew she sympathized with the poor more than any noble should. But ultimately, those qualities had been valuable to him because they tempered his own harsh views concerning the peasant population – the farmers, the carpenters, the blacksmiths, and so on. Her kind and gentle spirit balanced his own indifference to the woes of the less fortunate and his desire and willingness to take any steps necessary to ensure his place in the world.

Marian suited him, complemented him, and made him whole. But she had betrayed him. Her sympathies for the poor had run far deeper than Gisborne could've fathomed. As the Nightwatchman, she'd made a fool of him, but as Lady Marian, she'd made and absolute mockery of him. She'd run off with Hood because she'd never stopped loving him. For that alone he'd have his revenge. It was only a matter of time before Hood and his friends concocted some scheme to save the prisoners. It was only a matter of time before the valiant hero went riding to the rescue. But he would find that the guard in Nottingham Castle had been tripled. There was a constant watch outside the dungeon.

Robin Hood's luck was about to run out, and Gisborne would be waiting there when it did.

"Ah, Gisborne, about time," the Sheriff said, looking up from his letters as if Gisborne had just entered the room instead of standing there for nearly a half hour now.

"You wanted to see me, my lord?" Gisborne asked.

"Has there been any sign of Hood yet?"

"No, nothing," Gisborne replied.

The Sheriff looked annoyed, impatient. "Hmm, strange, don't you think, Gisborne? I wonder what's taking him so long. It isn't like him to wait, especially considering we have his _precious_ Marian. This is all a bit boring, just waiting." The Sheriff drummed his fingers on the desk as a slow, gleeful smile widened his lips. "I know I did say we'd wait until tomorrow. But I'm up for a spot of torture before dinner. I really hate sitting around with nothing to do."

* * *

_Marian stepped down from the carriage. Her dainty and impractical slippers sank into the puddles of mud and rain, the muck seeping through the fabric and chilling her to the bone. She stood still, staring at the open chapel doors ahead of her. She would rather see a funeral pyre at the end of the aisle than the inevitable fate that awaited her. Flipping back the delicate white veil that concealed her face, Marian lifted her face to the gray sky, letting the icy pellets wash away the tears._

_It was her wedding day, and it should have been a day of happiness and celebration. It should have been a day when she could look into her husband's eyes and see her future. Instead, the inclement weather mirrored her heart. She was not marrying the man she loved. The man she loved had left to fight a war in a foreign land, a decision that ultimately brought her to this cold fate. As she remembered the last kiss they shared – the last desperate moment when she realized she could not change his mind and he seemed to realize he might be losing her forever – the old sickness washed over her, dragging her down. The fatigue and melancholy seized her. She felt the familiar sensation that she was merely a shadow moving listlessly amongst the living. In her mind, she could never see him whole. She saw him injured or dead. She saw him drowned in a storm at sea. She saw herself laying flowers and mourning over an empty grave, his body lost to the shifting sands of a desert world she would never see._

"_Marian, please! Quit dallying. Your gown will be ruined."_

_At the sound of her mother's brisk, no nonsense voice – the ever practical voice of her conscience – Marian lowered her face. Her dreams of the future were shattered, and she was not a little girl anymore. Decisions were made not for what she wanted but for what must be done. Love was a forgotten memory, a girl's hopeless fantasy. _

_Marian moved forward. With each step, she sank further into the mud, but she pushed on. If she failed, they would hurt her father. And she'd promised her mother … so long ago she'd promised. She'd take care of her father._

But he is your father. He can take care of himself. He doesn't need you coddling him, protecting him as if he were weak and incapable.

_Marian shoved the thought away, the frivolous voice that told her to run where her heart led her. That was the voice of the girl she'd been, the one who hadn't known loss or betrayal or duty._

_At last, Marian reached the chapel steps. Relief swept through her for a moment, until she stepped through the doors. The rain outside suddenly stopped and the brilliant liquid gold of the summer sun shimmered through the intricate stained glass windows, casting a myriad of colors along the wooden pews and smooth stone floor. Marian's breath caught in her chest and she felt as if she were being smothered as she looked down the aisle. Her husband-to-be stood with his back to her, but the black leather was all too familiar._

"_No," Marian whispered, shaking her head. This was all wrong._

Run.

"_You look beautiful, my daughter." Marian started as her father took her arm in his. "As beautiful as your mother looked the day we wed. I only wish she could be here now."_

"_I do not wish to marry him," Marian whispered. "Please, do not make me. My heart belongs to another. You know this, but you will not let me go to him."_

"_Do not make me your excuse. You are an intelligent girl, a daughter I am so very proud of. You make your own choices, and you made this choice."_

_As they took a simultaneous step forward, Marian glanced ahead. She was not surprised to see the empty pews now filled with spectators, all standing and all solemnly watching her as if they were bearing witness to a funeral procession, not a wedding. She could no longer see the leather clad bridegroom._

"_I cannot do this!" Marian hissed._

"_You agreed to marry him. You cannot agree to something like that and simply change your mind. Until death do you part, there is no taking it back."_

"_I never said yes before God," Marian argued. "We are not one until death, not yet. Please, let me go. I do not love him!"_

"_Then you should have run when you had the chance."_

_They took another two steps forward, though Marian attempted to pry her arm loose. But it was to no avail. Edward's grip on her arm was as binding as an iron shackle. Desperate, Marian dug her heels into the floor, but no matter what she did, they kept moving forward, on inexorable step at a time. They passed through the rows of people, some she recognized and some she did not._

_As Marian and her father neared the altar, the only man she wanted to see finally came forward from the first pew, but he looked different. Edward faded into the background as she met Robin. Marian was accustomed to the endearingly untidy hair, the rough shadow of a beard that always darkened his jaw, and the peasant clothing that suited him better for a life in the forest. Instead, he appeared very much as he had before he left for the Holy Land. His clothing was clean, and the fabric was fine – the attire of a noble. His face was shaven, and his hair was shorter, neater. Oddly enough, Marian realized she'd become fonder of the rogue outlaw than the charming nobleman._

"_Robin." And in that word there was a wealth of emotion – a prayer, a vow, and an unspoken pledge of her love and devotion when she could not simply say how she felt. Other words failed her, but his name did not. _

_Carefully, he lifted her veil. His thumb smoothed away a tear that had unknowingly slipped from her lashes, and she knew his touch, found comfort and strength from such an innocent caress. They were one; they always had been. But they'd made mistakes, and they'd hurt each other._

"_Take me with you," Marian said. "Please."_

"_I cannot," Robin replied, his words cutting through the security she felt at his nearness. "You made your choice. You chose him."_

"_I never chose him. How could you think that? I was forced to answer under duress. I had to protect my father. But I _never_ chose him."_

"_Everything we do is a choice." Marian felt Robin's hand slip to her waist, both trying to pull her closer and push her away. "You are bleeding. Marian?"_

_The panic in his voice startled her, and Marian looked down at his hand. It was covered with blood. The unnatural growing flow of crimson soaked through the white fabric of Marian's dress until it began to puddle on the floor between them. Her wound burned. She looked back at Robin, but Robin wasn't standing there anymore._

_It was Gisborne._

_Her eyes moved from his black gaze to the small, bloody blade in his hand. "I hope you liked the wedding gift. I thought it was fitting."_

Marian awoke with a jolt, Robin's name on her lips.

"I hate to disappoint a lady, but I'm not Robin. He's running a bit late - rude of him, if you ask me."

On the opposite side of the cell, Marian recognized one of Robin's men seated on the floor, leaning back against the cell bars with his arms folded.

"I think they stitched you again," he said. "So, uh, you feel all right then?"

Marian glanced down at the spot of dried blood staining the fabric of her dress. The wound ached, but it did not really feel any worse than it had, which Marian could only count as a good thing – the one tiny positive in a sea of negative.

"So they did not catch Robin?" Marian asked.

"Catch him? Well, he wasn't around to be caught."

As Marian gathered her thoughts and reassured herself that all hope was not lost, she studied the man across from her. He'd obviously put up a fight on her behalf, or else he wouldn't be here. And she hated thinking of him as one of Robin's men, so she forced herself to think for a moment so she could put a name to a face she'd seen plenty of times before.

_Allan_. That was his name. Allan-a-Dale – the poacher and the liar. The Sheriff had hung his brother not so long ago.

Marian glanced about at the empty prison surrounding them. "Where is my father?"

"Oh, I'm fine by the way, thanks for asking."

And Marian mentally kicked herself for being so callous. She could've taken a moment to thank him before worrying about everything else. After all, it wasn't as though he were taking a holiday inside the dungeons. He was here because of her. "I am glad you were not hurt. And thank you. You risked your life for mine. I will not forget that."

Allan cleared his throat and glanced away, avoiding her gaze as if he hadn't actually expected her to respond, at least not seriously anyway. "I don't know where they've put Sir Edward."

At that moment, they heard the main door to the dungeon open, and the Sheriff's humming announced his arrival before they saw him. He was limping slightly, but that hardly seemed to dampen his mood. Four guards followed him. Apparently, the Sheriff wasn't taking any chances this time.

"Oh good, you're awake," the Sheriff said when his gaze fell on Marian. "I was so hoping you wouldn't have to miss the show."

Marian wasn't quite sure what the Sheriff was talking about, but Allan seemed to understand as he stood. "Not bein' funny, but I thought you said the torture wasn't until tomorrow."

"Hmm, yes, well, I lied. But I suppose you can thank your good friend Robin Hood for this. If he'd decided to show up sooner, I wouldn't be bored. And if I wasn't bored, I wouldn't be thinking about torturing _you _right now."

* * *

**A/N: **The strange dream sequence can be blamed on a few things. I haven't slept much this past week, I like strange dream sequences for some reason, I couldn't seem to write Marian's reintroduction to the story any other way, and I was watching the Princess Bride the other day (one of my all time favorite books/movies), and Buttercup's dream wedding sequence kind of inspired that part :D 

Many thanks to … Charmed luver222 … Thank you so much! Glad you're enjoying it … Marian66 … Thank you! Glad you liked it. And I do hope that was a rumor … Capt. Cow … As always, thank you bunches and bunches! I'm just praying that info was wrong. I can't figure why they'd wait so long. I was thinking more like March 08, like they aired it in March this year. Still, that's entirely too long of a wait! … scully42 … Thank you so much! I like dark and dangerous Robin too. I'm so happy to hear I was able to correctly capture that part of him :) … Threll … Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed the part with Allan. I didn't want that whole distrust to play out too much longer. I had that scene in my head with Robin being given the tag back when Gisborne caught Allan. It was nice to finally get it out of my head and into the story :) … DeanParker … lol, thanks much for the review! I hope you enjoy the bit of Will and Djaq in this chapter … KitsuneLauz … Thank you much for the review! I hope you'll get the chance to read it all, but I realize that can be a time consuming thing. I'm glad you enjoyed the Will and Djaq moment … auzziewitch … Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it … Boys Don't Cry … well, hey, at least I've met my in law quota for the next few months :) Thank you much for the review! I'm glad you enjoyed it … MontyPythonFan … As always, thank you! Robin does always find his way through the most difficult of situations, doesn't he? … Brennan on the Moor … Thank you so much for the kind words! They are much appreciated! It always makes me smile to hear I've done justice for these characters because they are brilliant characters, and I live in fear of screwing them up somehow. Well, many wishes for a safe and fun holiday. Again, thank you … Kalli J. Wolfram … Thanks so much! I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying it :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **Nope, not mine.

**A/N: **Well … I know I say this a bit, but I'm not thrilled with this chapter. Hopefully, you all will read and enjoy though :)

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Friar Tuck watched as Robin Hood, the manservant, and the giant returned to camp. In all his years, Tuck had never seen such a black look as the one that darkened Robin's face. Something terrible had happened – something that had nothing to do with him or the others and their attempt to return Robin and his friends to Prince John. But Tuck couldn't guess what had gone horribly wrong as what little Robin and the others were saying Tuck could not hear.

In Robin's absence, the Saracen and the carpenter had questioned Tuck, Sarah, and Wat as David was still unconscious. They had questioned them until the carpenter's injuries had made him look nearly green and the Saracen had returned him to the other side of camp so he could rest and she could treat him. During the interrogation, Sarah had avoided the intent glare of Will Scarlett, mumbling answers here and there. Wat had kept his head bowed and remained silent, though Tuck didn't take Wat's silence as defiance. No, Tuck rather thought Wat was regretting his actions. Meanwhile, Tuck had been quite open to answering any questions the duo asked him.

At the moment, Tuck knew Wat and Sarah felt … defeated, perhaps betrayed, perhaps ashamed by their actions, and perhaps fearful that their lives were simply going to end in the middle of Sherwood Forest instead of London. But he also knew they were not cruel people by nature but victims of a world that did not treat the poor kindly, especially under Prince John's regency. Tuck knew they'd had their doubts about delivering Robin and his gang to Prince John, especially after seeing first hand what Robin had done for the poor of Nottinghamshire and how he'd stood up to the Sheriff of Nottingham's tyranny since returning from the Holy Land. Still, regardless of their misgivings, Sarah and Wat were not leaders. They were people who tended to gravitate toward the strongest personality in a group and take their lead from that person. In this group, David was outwardly the dominant personality – the one who easily took charge. Of course, Tuck formed his own opinions and made his own choices, but he was quieter about them, so Sarah and Wat listened to David, and his confidence swayed their reservations about their mission.

As for David, Tuck counted on the man going into a foaming rage when he awoke and realized Tuck's duplicity. Unfortunately, Tuck couldn't help that. He'd done what he thought was right, and he didn't regret it. And in the end, Tuck was confident Sarah and Wat would come around to his view. David … well, Tuck wasn't so sure about David even after he'd vented his anger and calmed down enough to think rationally. David of Doncaster had lived the past several years as a mercenary, selling his skills to the highest bidder. Though not an evil man, David's only real concept was compensation. He couldn't afford to weigh right versus wrong because then he wouldn't be able to perform his job – the job that put food in his belly and clothing on his back. For David, life was all about finding the best offer.

Before Tuck could contemplate David's reaction further, David groaned, shifting as best he could while being bound to a tree. Tuck watched as David slowly lifted his head, cracked his neck, and experimentally opened his eyes, blinking a few times to focus on the world around him, no doubt. It didn't take David long before his eyes found Tuck, and it seemed like his gaze held Tuck's for a long time before he finally asked, "Why did you do it?"

"Because it was the right thing to do," Tuck replied. Though his voice was quiet, no one listening could mistake the conviction with which he said it.

"Was it really? It was the right thing to do? We were so close to having our pardons – our freedom." David's voice was steadily increasing from a whisper as anger flushed his face. "Doesn't that mean something to you? What do these people mean that you'd sell us for them? Sure, I wanted to gold, but more than that I wanted my freedom. And you took that away from me – from us. What gives you the bloody right?" David was nearly shouting now, inevitably drawing the attention of Robin and his friends.

And before Tuck could really be certain what was happening, Robin had a blade at David's chest. "And what gives you the right to sell us to Prince John? What gives you the right to interfere with our lives? Because of you, three people I care about are prisoners in Nottingham. You kept me from keeping a promise, from protecting people I swore to protect. And I swear to you, if any _one_ of them comes to harm, I will hold all of you responsible. You will wish you had stayed in London."

"Robin," Little John said with a hint of warning in his gruff voice.

"Master, stop," Much said, clearly exasperated. "We cannot think with you threatening people. And your threatening them is not going to solve anything."

"What gives me the right?" David asked with a sneer on his lips as if Little John and Much had never spoken. His glare was for Robin alone. "A pardon from Prince John – that's what gives me the right. And I don't care how noble Robin Hood and his men are. If you were in the Tower – if you could see what they did, if you could hear the screams …" David's voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard, looking pained, and Tuck knew why. Remembering what atrocities occurred in the Tower's dungeons was not a memory anyone needed to relive. But David gathered himself quickly, shoving aside that moment of weakness. "If you were there, you'd take the same bargain, and I guarantee you wouldn't think twice."

Robin snorted with disgust, but he did lower the dagger. He shook his head as if he were preparing to argue with a stubborn child. "Are you that naïve? I do not doubt what you saw and what you heard, and I do not doubt how terrible it was. But do you really believe Prince John would keep his word? Did it never occur to you that when you deliver us, he would just conveniently forget his promise? That he would just execute you along with us? I spent five years with King Richard, and I have heard enough about Prince John to trust him less than the Sheriff. Men like him do not keep promises. They use people, and when they are finished with them, they throw them away. That, you can believe."

As Tuck quietly listened to all of this, he realized something he never thought of before. Robin was right. What guarantee did they have that Prince John would keep his promise to them? They had only his word and dreams of pardons and gold. Without King Richard's own views, Tuck knew there was enough evidence condemning Prince John as a malicious and devious man. He didn't gain the power he had in Richard's absence by being truthful or kind. He obtained what he wanted and rid himself of anyone he deemed disposable. And Tuck, David, Sarah, and Wat certainly fell into the disposable category as far as Tuck could see. Once they'd fulfilled their purpose, Prince John would have no use for them, and he would never part with the ransom's worth of gold he'd promised them.

Prince John had played them all for fools, manipulating them to obtain what he wanted. But David didn't seem quite prepared to accept that. "Basing your opinion on King Richard's is interesting. Coming from a king who left his people and his country to fight a war in a world most of us will never see, I don't understand how that means much of anything. I'm not a fool. I don't believe Prince John is a good man, but I cannot share your faith in King Richard either."

Much opened and closed his mouth several times as if he wanted to reprimand David for speaking against King Richard, but he was too flustered to think of anything to say. Robin didn't have such a problem. "The king is a good man who is fighting for what he believes in. He could not have guessed how his brother would manipulate the nobles and gain the power he has. When the king returns, John will be punished as will the nobles who have sided with him. Until that day, it is our duty to take back what we can from the corrupt – from men like the Sheriff and Gisborne, from men like Prince John himself."

Then quite unexpectedly, to Tuck's surprise, indeed to everyone's surprise, David asked, "Gisborne? As in Sir Guy of Gisborne?"

"You know him?" Robin asked.

At the same time, Much mumbled, "I would hate to think there is more than one Gisborne out there."

The anger appeared to melt out of David, but it was replaced by something far more deadly than anger. Tuck watched him intently. In fact, everyone was watching David expectantly, even Wat, who'd finally lifted his head. At some point, Tuck didn't recall seeing them appear, Djaq and Will had also come to see what exactly was happening. They were all waiting silently for David to continue.

Finally, David looked back up at Robin. "I certainly can't say I have the pleasure of knowing him. I'd say it's more of a misfortune. I wasn't always a mercenary. I didn't always sell my services to the highest bidder, but I was left with few options to survive. I'm not a farmer or a tradesman. I fight. It's what I know, and maybe that means I should have fought for King Richard. But you wouldn't have caught me journeying half way across the world just to die in that desert." Tuck suspected that was meant as a jab at Robin, showing that David did not necessarily agree with King Richard's views.

"You opinions on the Holy Land do not matter to me or to anyone else right now," Robin returned, obviously sensing the spite in David's tone. "How do you know Gisborne?"

"I used to make my living at the tournaments, jousting mostly. That is, of course, where the better prize winnings are. It must have been at least five years before King Richard left, and I spent most of that time in France where the tourneys are far more generous, especially in Aquitaine. Queen Eleanor is rather fond of them," David added, referring to Richard's and John's mother who had not stepped foot on English soil in many years. "It was in Aquitaine, actually, where I first made the acquaintance of a knight. Though he had proven himself in the lists, Sir Guy of Gisborne was a joke. Maybe people wouldn't have found it so amusing that he was a landless lord if he wasn't such a bloody prat. Anyway, long story short, the bastard ran me through, nearly killed me."

For a moment, no one said anything. Then, Much said, "I am certainly not one to defend Gisborne, but, well, surely that is a risk in jousting. How could that have been unexpected?"

"Because I humiliated him in front of a particular lady he was trying to impress. The lady in question chose to support me in …" David paused, clearing his throat, "… um, well, in more ways than one. And Gisborne took his revenge in the lists. He used a false tip on the jousting lance, with every intention of killing me. But he did me one worse. He crippled me. My right shoulder – if you pull back the tunic, you can see the scarring. Even after I healed, I could no longer ride in the tourneys. I'm not a physician. I'm not really sure how it happened or why. All I know is that I can't quite support the weight of the lance like I used to. I tried. Beyond the weakness in that arm, the pain of being hit was unbearable even with the armor and the padding beneath. It was so … intense, I blacked out there, right in the bloody lists. I was never the same after taking that clear through my shoulder."

"But I've seen you fight with a sword," Sarah said.

"Left handed," Robin murmured. "I saw you with the stiletto – left hand."

"I managed to learn – to at least be competent with a sword left handed," David replied. "I can't count on my right to hold out in a fight."

Tuck continued to look back and forth between Robin and David – Robin was the leader of his group and David was essentially the leader of theirs. He thought he saw some kind of understanding pass between them before Robin turned abruptly and returned to the opposite side of the camp. Much and Little John hesitated before joining him, followed by Will and Djaq.

After they were out of earshot, Tuck said quietly, "Do you disagree with my decision now? Now that you know Robin Hood is fighting cowardly men like this Sir Guy of Gisborne?"

David said nothing. But then, Tuck hadn't expected him to.

* * *

Much glanced over his shoulder as he followed Robin back to the other side of camp where they wouldn't be heard by the hostages. His gaze lingered for a moment on David of Doncaster and his little band. At this point, he didn't know what to believe. The only thing he knew for certain was that his friends were in trouble, and they needed to think of something, and they needed to think fast. Much suspected the Sheriff would figure Lady Marian was all the bait he really needed to catch Robin. What use would he have for Allan? As they wasted time listening to David's useless story about how Gisborne had cheated and injured him, nearly killing him, the Sheriff and Gisborne could've already hung Allan. 

Much swallowed hard at the thought. He didn't really want to think about that possibility. Allan wasn't his favorite, and Allan usually had something smart to say about him or his cooking or his penchant for always being hungry, but Much certainly did not want to see the man dead. Allan was part of this group, and he had a valuable role to play. Maybe he and Allan would never be the best of friends, but Allan, deep down, was a good man who actually did think about other people besides himself. And Much admitted Allan's ability to consider the welfare of others had increased significantly over the past few months. Allan deserved all their concentrated efforts on planning his rescue, just as much as Marian and Sir Edward deserved and needed it as well.

"I think," Robin began, breaking the silence, "that we can be sure nothing we have done in the past will work. We have to think of something new, something the Sheriff will not expect if we want to get inside Nottingham. Getting inside undetected is going to be very difficult."

"We know that, Robin," Little John pointed out. "That's why we've been trying to think of something else."

"Of course, we haven't gotten very far on that one," Will said.

Djaq raised an eyebrow, looking at Will. "Your encouragement is touching."

"That is why I say we let the Sheriff know we are there."

Much was certain he must've looked ridiculous as he gaped at Robin. If it were possible, his jaw would have dropped completely to the ground. Of course, Much was not the only one staring at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "Master," Much began tentatively as if he were speaking to a slightly unstable person, "you are joking. You must be joking." He watched his master's face, but the self-satisfied, I-know-this-will-work-just-trust-me grin was beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. Seeing the troubled look on Robin's face melt into confidence would have made Much feel a good bit better because it meant they had a plan. But this wasn't a plan, whatever his master had in mind. This sounded like a death wish, and his master looked quiet serious about it, which only made Much say more forcefully, "Surely you _must_ be joking. Please, tell us you are joking."

"The Sheriff will be expecting us," Robin said. "But he will not be expecting _them_."

"Perhaps they knocked you on the head harder than I thought," Djaq said. "Because it sounds as if you are saying we should trust them."

"They … they wanted to take us to London!" Much spluttered, wishing he could follow his master's train of thought but finding it impossible. "And you are saying we should just … that we _can_ trust them?"

Little John merely shook his head while Will appeared on the verge of saying something but he didn't, apparently figuring Djaq and Much had said it quite clearly. This was insane.

"The friar has already chosen his side," Robin reasoned. "As for David, despite what he was, he is a mercenary now. He works for the best compensation. If he is clever, he already has his freedom. Maybe not officially, but it is close enough. We can offer him revenge against Gisborne, and perhaps some gold to compensate for what he thinks Prince John would have given him."

"Gold?" Much asked. "What gold?"

"The bounty the Sheriff has on my head."

It had been a measure the Sheriff had taken months ago but without success. No one was willing to turn Robin Hood over for the reward. "Please tell me you are not suggesting …" Much's voice trailed off. "You are, aren't you?"

"This I do not like," Little John muttered. "We are trying to plan a rescue, not get ourselves caught."

"Master, this is madness. Utter madness!"

"How do you suppose we'll get out once the Sheriff locks us up too?" Will asked.

"Look," Robin said, "we know the Sheriff is waiting for us. We know the guard around Nottingham will be doubled, if not tripled. Anything we plan will be no less dangerous because the Sheriff will expect it. He will not be prepared for this. Let me talk to them, and we will work this out. I will not expect all of us to be turned over, just me." Before anyone could protest, Robin pushed on, "I am the one the Sheriff wants most. If he has me, his attention will be diverted. And if we use them, we will have four people on our side the Sheriff will not be counting on. We will make this work. We _have_ to make this work."

Robin returned to the hostages before anyone could really think of anything to say, of any other argument other than "this is madness." Besides that, Much knew everyone realized Robin left something very significant hanging unspoken in the air. They had to make this work to save Sir Edward, Marian, and Allan. Whether or not Robin ever made it back out of Nottingham was not on Robin's list of priorities at the moment. His only concern right now was seeing the people he loved safe even if it meant using himself as a diversion for the Sheriff.

Much closed his eyes. His master was known to be reckless when the people he loved were in danger, but yet Robin always possessed an unnerving knack for being correct in his ideas and assumptions even when everyone else thought it was crazy. Much could only pray this time was like all the other times because once his master was set on a course of action, there was little anyone could do to deter it, especially since they were working with very limited time.

"He cannot mean this," Djaq said as she watched Robin.

"I'm afraid he does," Much replied.

* * *

Many thanks to … Marian66 … Thanks so much! I'm glad you're enjoying it … hardyboyfansrock … lol, cursing is fine. Yes, the Sheriff does deserve a good punch :) Glad you're enjoying it, and thank you … scully42 … As always, thank you! I haven't quite decided yet what to do with Edward. Originally, I had planned on him dying back when the Sheriff and Gisborne arrested him and Marian, but I rewrote it … GreggoAddict … Thank you so much, glad you're enjoying! I should be getting back to Allan in the next chapter … RynAnn … Thank you! I'm glad you enjoying the dream sequence … El Gringo Loco … Thank you so much, glad you're enjoying! Yes, things are a bit grim, but I believe in happy endings, so I think it's fair to say Robin will figure this out, like he always does :) … Capt. Cow … As always, thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the Will and Djaq bit. So have you finished Harry Potter yet? I did, and I'm quite sad it's over now :( But, oh wow, such an excellent way to finish the series. I'm seriously jealous of JK Rowling and her unbelievable wealth of talent and creativity … MontyPytonFan … Thank you so much! Glad you're enjoying … Boys Don't Cry … Thank you! I'm happy to hear you think I've written the Sheriff well … Brennan on the Moor … Thank you so much for the kind words! Allan is a bit of difficult character and the Sheriff as well. Well really, they all are in a sense because they aren't mine. It almost makes me miss my fiction writing because I had an easier time writing my own characters, but as I've hit major writer's block in that arena, I'm not sure when I'll go back to it. Again, thank you … shade-of-lily … Thank you so much! I'm so glad you're enjoying. Yes, the book was phenomenal. My friend and I had the longest running debate about Snape's (who I love just because of his complexity as a character and Rowling's ability to keep you guessing about him) true allegiance, and I was SO happy to finally say "I told you so!" But I'm so sad it's over now … Kalli J. Wolfram … Thank you so much! Glad to see you're enjoying! … auzziewitch … Well, the plan isn't quite solidified yet, but it's getting there. Thank you for the review … DeanParker … Thank you so much. Glad you're enjoying, and we'll hopefully get the gang on the way to Nottingham pretty soon. 


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Well … obviously, it's been a long time since I updated. I've been working a lot on my original story. This chapter feels kind of strange for me – probably because I haven't written anything in awhile for this story. I hope its okay, and I'm really, really truly sorry to have gone this long without an update.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

For the second time that day, Allan was shoved roughly into Nottingham's torture chamber, except this time he wasn't chained. That, Allan suspected, was because he was soon going to be stretched out and getting acquainted with the Rack, the Sheriff's new toy. Naturally, the Sheriff looked positively gleeful about the whole thing. Someone might think he'd just been named the bloody king of England. Meanwhile, Gisborne appeared sullen, his arms folded as he stood back from the scene, which was nothing unusual. For the times Allan had seen him, Gisborne really only had one expression and he wore it for everything. Aside from the Sheriff and Gisborne, Allan also noticed the thin, greasy, pointy faced man called Flynn from earlier, the one he could only assume invented the Rack for the Sheriff's use on prisoners. Flynn's eager, toothless grin bothered Allan most of all, and Allan was waiting for him to start drooling he looked so anxious to begin. Allan couldn't be sure if Flynn was excited for the actual torture or simply hoping to impress the Sheriff. It was probably some of both.

The room was quiet, disturbingly so. The only sound was the soft crackle of a fire, which only held more bad news for Allan. He recognized pincers, the iron burning red and hot. Wonderful. Not only were they going to stretch him, they were also going to burn him. This really was not shaping up to be one of his better days.

The silence stretched on, and Allan guessed the Sheriff was waiting for someone, probably Marian's father, before things got underway. And Allan wished he could think of something to say, something that would show them they hadn't broken him – that they hadn't even come close. Yet for the first time in a very long time, words failed him. What did one say when faced with something of this magnitude? What did one even think?

As he stood there, Allan was aware that Marian was somewhere behind him, and he could hardly believe they were going to make her bear witness to this atrocity. No one, let alone a lady, should have to watch a man be tortured. Then again, this was the Sheriff and Gisborne. They weren't exactly known for their morals but rather their severe lack of them.

After a few more moments of silence and simply waiting, the door to the chamber opened again, admitting Sir Edward from wherever they'd been keeping him. He was escorted by two armed guards.

The two guards exited again, presumably to stand watch at the door. "Well," the Sheriff began, "now that we have our audience, I say we start the show. The show will, of course, be _you_." The Sheriff focused his attention on Allan.

"So glad I could be the entertainment," Allan replied. But there was nothing smart or amusing about it. The words were dry, unmitigated sarcasm. Allan wasn't a squeamish person. He'd seen his fair share of ugly things during his life, but the fact that the Sheriff was actually going to enjoy this made Allan sick. What kind of person actually relished the thought of making someone else suffer? It was revolting, and Allan suddenly realized he hadn't quite understood the meaning of hatred until this point. Right now what he felt toward the Sheriff and Gisborne and the stupid, ugly, greasy man with his toothless smile was the true meaning of hatred and the epitome of disgust.

"Hmm, yes, well I'm not really sure how entertaining you'll find it, but I know I'll find it all quite fun. Now, I assume you've been introduced." The Sheriff waved his hand in the direction of the rack. "Of course, for the benefit of my new guests, perhaps … whatever your name is, could explain how this _lovely_ device works."

"Flynn, my lord," the greasy haired man said with a nervous bob of his head.

"Right, Flint, whatever," the Sheriff replied. "Be quick about it. I haven't got all day to listen to you talk."

Flynn, who appeared to have something of a nervous twitch, launched into essentially the same explanation he'd given earlier for Allan's benefit when Gisborne had dragged Allan here. At the time, at least, Allan thought he had until tomorrow morning, which gave Robin and the others more time to plan a rescue. And the rack didn't sound any better the second time around. As Allan heard Marian's horrified intake of breath and Sir Edward's indignant reprimand that this was disgustingly cruel even for the Sheriff, which the Sheriff appeared to find amusing, Allan blocked out their voices. He focused only on the thing in front of him as if he were preparing for a battle to the death: him versus this thing, this inanimate object that he couldn't fight except by refusing to give in. Allan wasn't stupid. He knew they wanted him to beg for their mercy, something none of them possessed. And that was one thing he'd never do. He wouldn't give them the bloody satisfaction.

He continued looking at the rack, and Allan realized he'd made a lot of mistakes in his life. He'd probably spent too much time looking out for himself instead of taking the time to worry about someone else. There were regrets, but there were always some regrets at the end.

Strange that he considered this the end without even really intending to. It just sort of popped into his head. But by now, he'd accepted that rescue wasn't just around the corner. It wasn't that he thought Robin and the others abandoned him, but rather that this had all happened so quickly. The others wouldn't have had time to think of a clever plan, especially considering they had to plan around an increase in security at Nottingham and the fact that the Sheriff had really just stopped short of rolling out the welcome mat for Robin and the others. The only thing he could truly hope for now was that Robin would get here in time to save Marian and her father, which Allan figured they would. He didn't know how he knew that with such certainty, but he did. Even if it meant his own life, Robin wouldn't stop until Marian was safe because he loved her.

It was almost surreal, all the things he considered at a time like this – things he normally never gave a passing thought to. He'd been in love once … at least, he figured it was love. He told her she deserved better than him, and, after some time, he heard she had married someone better than him. But, well, maybe the truth was he'd never really understood the depth of that emotion – that word that could be tossed around so carelessly – until he'd met Robin and saw firsthand what Robin felt for Marian. It made what he once felt seem trifling in comparison, but then, he'd never been forced into such dire circumstances. Robin and Marian seemed to face trials at every turn. Maybe that was what made love real. He didn't know, but oddly enough, he wondered if Ellen would ever hear of his death. If she did, would she care? Or had she forgotten him?

Allan closed his eyes for a moment. _Why_ was he even thinking about this? They were things he hadn't thought of in so long they sometimes seemed another lifetime ago. Did it really even matter now? Not to him, not really, not now because with a certainty that chilled him, Allan realized this was where he was going to die.

* * *

Marian felt numb as she listened to Flynn outline the exact way in which the rack worked. And she thought she had never heard anything so vile, though she imagined that the Sheriff, if given the time, could think of something equally horrendous. As Flynn concluded his little speech, the Sheriff was compelled to say this was meant as a demonstration for her father. Her father was going to watch as they tortured Allan with the knowledge that he would be next if he didn't produce the names of the rebellious nobles the Sheriff so desperately wanted. 

Marian knew that was a lie. The Sheriff wouldn't subject her father to this, at least not without first gaining a conviction before a court of nobles. Obviously, the Sheriff had yet to offer evidence against Edward and Marian before the nobles. What the Sheriff ultimately hoped for was that Edward would crack and give him the names if the Sheriff would spare Allan.

Marian glanced at her father out of the corner of her eye. Her father looked older than his years in that moment and he looked pale and worn. He had never fully agreed with the war in the Holy Land, but he had neither been adamant about it nor vocal. His faith and allegiance to King Richard kept him quiet though he always feared what would happen to England in the king's absence. His fears were certainly not unfounded as time had proven. King Richard's absence bred men like the Sheriff, and they infected England like a plague. They were men who grasped and squabbled over power and wealth in the absence of their king – men who doubted the king's return and who sought to gobble up their own little pieces of a broken country.

And there was no further proof of how horribly broken this country was than by watching the appalling scene that was preparing to play out right in front of her, and she was helpless to stop it. What bothered her most was that Allan appeared to accept it with the stoic silence of a man prepared and willing to die. That nasty little man, Flynn, stripped Allan of his shirt and strapped him down. There was no resistance from Allan, nothing that showed he was willing to fight.

Logically, Marian knew there was nothing he could do. They were without weapons, surrounded by guards in the depths of Nottingham Castle. But at least seeing him struggle would mean he was still trying to live, still believing that Robin was minutes away.

And Marian had to believe Robin wasn't that far away. Right now, she couldn't even be selfish enough to wish Robin were seconds away from saving her, though the thought was certainly comforting. No, more than anything she wanted him to save Allan … to save her father. She'd made her choice, and these should be her consequences to face, not Allan's, not even her father's. She chose to sneak about in the night as the Nightwatchman. Why should anyone else suffer for her decision?

Despite her stubbornness, Robin would never leave her to the Sheriff or Gisborne. And it was her decision that had brought Allan here to Nottingham, now facing torture. Because she'd stayed at Knighton, she'd brought this about. If she'd just listened … but it didn't matter now, did it? She'd made her choice, and this was the result. There was no taking it back.

As the Sheriff reached for the red hot pincers, apparently the primer before the real torture began, Marian blamed herself. She would never forget this – it would be burned forever like a waking nightmare in her mind just as the iron seared Allan's flesh.

* * *

David of Doncaster stared down at his hands, musing over quite a few things. He had spent most of his life taking risks. He knew what it was like to trust people he shouldn't trust, and he knew what it was like to take ill-advised chances. Though it wasn't an easy way to live, he lived mostly on instinct and refused to over think the consequences of a particular decision. If he did that, he'd never make a choice, and he wouldn't have done half the things he'd done in his life, most of which he never regretted. Because of his own experiences, he had to admire a man willing and ready to take such a chance on the people he loved. 

Robin Hood was either brave or quite crazy or maybe a little of both. Either way, David had to respect the man's conviction to do the right thing despite the odds and despite the fact this surely could not end well for anyone involved. Robin had outlined the situation, explaining to David, Wat, Tuck, and Sarah what he needed of them if they were willing. David and Tuck had even offered a few suggestions of their own. Then, Robin had cut their ropes, telling them he wanted them to understand their freedom did not depend on their answer. They were free to leave, for Robin Hood had no real desire to kill them. David suspected the former lord of Locksley had witnessed enough death in the Holy Land.

Robin had given them a choice. He didn't use anything against them to coerce them into a decision. At this moment, all four of them were free to walk away and forget they'd ever journeyed into Sherwood Forest on a mission to capture the infamous outlaw. But David wasn't ready to walk away. As a mercenary – a bounty hunter – David had spent a long time teaching himself not to see his targets as people. It was never easy, but it was what his life had become, and he'd taught himself well. During the past hour, he'd stopped seeing Robin Hood as a target, as simply a thing to be handed over to Prince John for gold and a pardon. Though he didn't want to admit his own foolishness aloud, David conceded to himself that Robin was probably right, and he'd been an idiot not to consider it in the first place. Prince John bought them with false promises, using the Tower and the fear it instilled against them. It stood to reason that Prince John simply wanted to see if he could catch Robin and his gang for free. If David and the others returned with Robin then Prince John could dispose of all of them without his coffers, which were filled with the outrageous taxes paid by poor, hardworking people who were barely surviving, taking a hit. Naturally, if the greedy prince could get what he wanted without a price, why pay skilled assassins for the job? If David and the others never returned … well, then it was no real loss on Prince John's part. It simply meant he'd have to actually pay people for the job.

Aside from all of this, David knew he was being offered a second chance at Gisborne. Of course, he hadn't spent his life searching for Gisborne. He hadn't devoted his very existence to revenge against the man. That wasn't who David was. Instead, he'd contented himself with the fact that if their paths crossed again one day, he'd have the pleasure of repaying Gisborne's treachery.

As things stood, it was "one day" because his opportunity to strike Gisborne was a quick ride to Nottingham Castle. The castle was, of course, a deathtrap. Robin's plan, though reasonable, required that they all make their peace with God and understand they might not leave Nottingham alive.

David glanced at the others. Robin had retreated to give them space to discuss this, but they were still being watched. Tuck was studying David, waiting for him to speak. Wat sat with his head in his hands while Sarah rubbed her left wrist absently and stared off into the distance.

"Sarah?" David said softly. She jumped, startled by the sound of his voice. Her gaze met his. She looked confused, lost. David couldn't blame her. The past hour or so had been a whirlwind.

"I – I don't know if I can," Sarah whispered. "What if we're caught? Wasn't that the point of accepting Lackland's offer? To gain our freedom?"

"We have our freedom now," Tuck pointed out. "Maybe we don't have actual pardons from the Prince, but we are a far way from London."

Sarah nodded. "I understand that. Sitting here, right now, we're free. But what if the Sheriff catches us? Are we just trading the Tower for Nottingham's prison? It doesn't seem like much of a trade to me."

"She's right," Wat added, raising his head. "I don't want to take them to Prince John anymore. Now I wonder if I ever really did. But the plan … it's crazy. I don't see how we'll make it out of the castle."

"Well, I think Robin Hood is bloody daft to trust us," David said. "But just because it's crazy, it isn't stopping him from turning us loose or asking for our help. And we can help. We can take the bounty the Sheriff's offered for Hood, and we can walk away free once we help them rescue their friends. I'd say Hood's offered us a pretty nice deal considering we were trying to hand him over to Lackland. He could've killed us. I almost wonder why he didn't."

Wat sighed, shaking his head. "Poaching was a good bit easier than this. And I _still_ got arrested," Wat added.

"I'm willing to take the chance," David said. It wasn't only for Robin and his friends. He'd be a liar if he said it was. Robin had given them a generous offer even when they so obviously didn't deserve it, but they all had something personal to gain from this – enough gold to begin a new life. David planned to head straight for Aquitaine and hopefully never set foot on English soil again.

"As am I," Tuck said, adding his vote to David's.

Wat looked back and forth between them. He snorted. "I think everyone in this camp right now is a bunch of bloody idiots." He paused, staring back at David and Tuck as he considered. "Fine, I'm in. But I want the post closest to the exit."

Sarah avoided their gazes as she picked at the dirt beneath one of her fingernails. David reached over and grasped her hand. She looked up and sighed. "Yes, I'll do it."

"Sarah, you don't have to. You can walk away," David replied. He didn't want her to say yes just because they had. He wanted her to be certain.

"Right," Sarah scoffed, some of the confusion and fear melting away from her expression. "And turn down just about the best paid job I've ever been offered? That wouldn't make me much of a thief, now would it?"

* * *

Robin looked over at David and the others. They were talking softly amongst each other. Impatient as he awaited their response, he continued pacing. 

After a few more minutes, Much broke the silence on their end of camp with a tentative, "Master?"

Robin stopped pacing and glanced over at Much. He knew what was coming before Much even opened his mouth, so Robin said, "I have made my decision."

"Right," Much replied with a stilted nod of his head. "And we are all willing to do whatever we have to, but surely there must be a better way."

Robin crossed his arms. "Well, _surely_ if there is a better way then you can tell me. What is this better plan, Much?"

Much opened his mouth and then snapped it shut.

"I am waiting for this brilliant plan," Robin pointed out.

"I … well … if we just … I …"

"Exactly," Robin replied. "There is no better plan."

"You will be locked up in the dungeon," Much stated flatly. "And we will have to trust _them_." He waved his hand in the direction of Lackland's mercenaries.

"He's right," Djaq said, joining the conversation. "Trusting them is not your best idea. If we arrange to meet with one of our contacts maybe they could tell us something, like when the guard changes or where the fewest guards are stationed. That might help us get into the castle without much trouble."

"We do not have the time," Robin argued, his frustration evident. "Just … will you please just trust me? This is what we have to do, and it _will_ work."

Much and Djaq exchanged a glance, and Robin sensed they were finished arguing with him. Djaq shook her head, appearing skeptical but resigned to the plan. Much sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. He muttered something about being cursed with the most stubborn of masters, but the actual words were lost as David joined them with the announcement Robin was waiting to hear: "We want to help."

* * *

**A/N**: I felt a bit odd about Allan in this chapter … it's difficult trying to imagine what would be going through his mind at a time like this. 

Ellen is the name given as Allan-a-Dale's wife in many of the ballads, which I discovered on a wonderful site dedicated to Robin Hood. So, I used the name Ellen as the woman Allan once loved. Also, according to that website, David of Doncaster and Wat O' the Crabstaff are two little known Merry Men from the Robin Hood ballads.

The plan is not fully discussed for a reason. I would prefer you all to see it unfold rather than really explaining it first. That's just my preference for the writing.

Normally, I do the personalized bit here, but with all the reviews, I fear I would go on forever or forget to include someone. I just want to thank all of you who have given me such wonderful words of praise. You're all the best, and rereading these reviews is what really made me set aside my original work for a bit so I could get up a new chapter. Hopefully, the next update will not be nearly so long in coming. Thank you all a million times over for taking the time to read and review!


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **Nope, don't own the characters.

**A/N: **Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

If nothing else that late afternoon was certain, at least they knew one thing for sure: there were no soldiers left at Locksley. Every last man under the Sheriff's command was within the walls of Nottingham Castle. That was why it was a simple enough matter for Will, Little John, Wat, and Djaq to slip into Locksley Manor – with the help of Thornton – and gain access to the cellar and Gisborne's selection of ale and wine.

As Will, John, and Wat managed the beverage barrels, Djaq and Thornton hitched two of the horses to a wagon, which they then guided to the servant's entrance of Locksley Manor so the barrels could be loaded. As they waited at the servant's entrance, Thornton, currently working as Gisborne's manservant until the day Locksley lands were hopefully restored to their rightful heir, turned to Djaq. "Who is the man with the red hair?" he asked.

Djaq shook her head. "Believe me you do not want to know."

Thornton did not press the issue, but after a moment, he asked, "Is it true then? There was word from Knighton that Sir Edward and Lady Marian were arrested."

Djaq nodded. "It is true."

"Robin will save them," Thornton said with a confidence Djaq did not necessarily feel. It wasn't that she didn't believe in Robin, but she still wasn't entirely convinced they could trust their new companions. If even one of them said a word to the Sheriff or Gisborne, they were finished. And thinking of Gisborne made Djaq recall there was yet another hitch in this plan. If Gisborne recognized David of Doncaster, there was no telling how he would react. David seemed sure that even if Gisborne did recognize him after all this time, Gisborne still knew David's reputation well enough to never assume he'd be working for a cause associated with Robin Hood.

The silence stretched for a little before Thornton, who seemed compelled to fill the stillness, asked, "Then this is all part of your plan?" He waved in the direction of the wagon.

"Yes," Djaq replied as Will, John, and Wat started bringing barrels to the wagon. "You are certain Gisborne will not notice they are missing? Robin does not want you blamed for anything."

"He will not realize a few barrels missing," Thornton replied. "Only the servants venture into the cellar anyway, and we serve his food and drink. He'd have no reason to notice."

Djaq was glad to hear it as she then set to work helping the others load the wagon. None of them would want to hear that Thornton had been punished on their account.

As Djaq worked, she found the absolute silence amongst them strange. She knew they were all wary of saying much of anything in front of Wat, but that wasn't the only reason for the quiet. She knew they were all wondering the same thing, but none of them would dare say it aloud. What if the outlaws had finally run their course against the Sheriff? What if, this time, the Sheriff was simply too well prepared for any and all rescue attempts? There was bound to be a time when the Sheriff managed to lay the perfect trap, and Djaq couldn't figure a better opportunity but the present for the Sheriff to get it right.

As the final barrel was loaded onto the wagon, the outlaws thanked Thornton for his help. Thornton smiled, but it was the sad sort of smile of a man who only wished he could do more than sneak ale from his master's house. "Just promise me you will take care, and that you will see Lady Marian and Sir Edward to safety."

"And Allan," Will said so quietly Thornton did not hear as he turned back and disappeared inside the dimly lit manor. Djaq's gaze met Will's. She knew he was still blaming himself, thinking he somehow could have prevented this entire mess if he hadn't been fooled by Sarah.

"He will be fine. They all will. By tomorrow night, Allan will tease Much about his cooking and cheat you at dice," Djaq said, hating the fact she was saying things she didn't know were true. If it weren't for the fact they were placing their faith in four people who had yet to prove they deserved it, the soundness of Robin's plan couldn't be questioned. It was the very best they were likely to come up with. Still, by trusting the group of mercenaries, they were taking a much larger risk than the one required just to step foot inside Nottingham Castle when it was so obvious the Sheriff was waiting for them.

Will said nothing, the grim look on his face giving voice to a hundred unspoken words. He and Djaq climbed to the seat of the wagon while John and Wat swung up onto their own horses. Djaq reached for the reins before Will had the chance.

"I can take the reins," Will said.

"No," Djaq replied. "_You_ need to take every opportunity to rest. We have a long night ahead of us."

Testament to how exhausted and hurt he really was Will didn't say another word. He leaned against the back of the wagon as it lurched into motion. Djaq reached back and pulled the hood of her cloak up, and Will did the same. Just because it was unlikely they would come across any soldiers, it was still no reason to parade brazenly through Locksley.

Purposely, Djaq had hitched her and Will's horses to the wagon. As the wagon rocked along the ruts of the dirt road, Djaq realized she should've stayed at camp to collect the ingredients she needed to make the sleeping draught Robin wanted her to prepare. Of course, she trusted Much enough to collect the necessary plants and berries and set a pot with boiling water, but she knew Robin was slightly annoyed with her adamant decision to join John, Will, and Wat on their trip to Locksley. But as she studied Will, Djaq knew she'd made the right choice. He was pale, sweat glistened on his forehead, and his hand trembled. He was pushing himself far more than he should, but Djaq understood there was no way to deter him. Will wouldn't just accept sitting in Sherwood doing nothing, but at least he would have a brief respite during the ride back to camp.

Djaq reached for the tiny flask strapped at her waist. She knew it wouldn't taste good, but Will needed strength any way he could get it right now. Of all of them, he'd been injured worst by Lackland's mercenaries.

"Here," Djaq said, handing the flask over to Will. "Drink this."

"I guess this won't taste very good either."

"No, probably not, but it will help."

"Even if it is horrible, thank you," Will replied.

Djaq glanced at Will out of the corner of her eye. "Are you certain you are ready for this?"

"Yes," Will said without hesitation. "I won't sit at camp, and I hope you won't try to tell me I should."

"I would if I thought it would do any good," Djaq replied.

"I'm in this to the end."

"To the end," Djaq murmured.

Will lowered the flask in his hand after managing to choke down most of it with only minimal coughing. For a few minutes there was nothing but the methodical sound of the horses' hooves clomping through the dirt as they wound their way back into the coverage of Sherwood. Then, Will startled Djaq by saying her name in a low, serious voice filled with a soft urgency she'd never heard him use before. "Djaq …" His voice trailed off again into silence for a moment. Then, Will continued, "Djaq, I wanted … before we do this … I mean, if anything should happen I wanted to tell you …"

Djaq's heart missed a beat, and before she realized what she was doing, she placed a hand on his knee, stopping his words before he could say them. "Don't," she whispered. "Whatever you want to say, tell me it after we make it through tonight. Agreed?"

Silence greeted her for a moment, and though she kept her eyes straight ahead, Djaq felt Will watching her. Finally, she heard a soft sigh escape his lips, and he said softly, "Agreed."

* * *

For the second time that day, Robin stood alone in Marian's room at Knighton Hall. Seeing this room without her, being inside it without her beside him, made the world around him fall apart. It wasn't natural. Everything felt wrong, and it chilled his heart. Seeing her room like this made him feel like he was watching her die all over again. 

Obviously, nothing had changed in the hour or so since him, John, and Much had been here. The chamber was still ransacked, and it enraged Robin that _her_ chamber and _her_ possessions had been so thoroughly violated by the Sheriff's men. Only a short time ago, he stood in this room and felt panic choke him – panic and a desperate need to do something. The panic and worry were still there, clutching tight in his chest, but there was something else now, something that, if he were thinking clearly, might frighten him. It was an instinct that took over him now, pure, savage, and deadly. It was an instinct quickly bred into him on the battlefields of the Holy Land. The instinct knew death and delivered death. It did not have any morals, nor did it want morals. During those years at war, Robin learned very fast that instinct is what kept men alive. It was the only thing that separated the dead from those who lived to see another day. But Robin knew that monster – that killer he'd learned to be – wasn't provoked nearly as much by threats on his own person. No, that instinct seized his mind, body, and soul when someone he cared about was jeopardized, but it was worse when Marian was concerned. Despite all of their differences, she was a part of him; she always would be. No one hurt the people he cared about, and Robin was certain the Sheriff and Gisborne would realize that full well by the end of this night.

The silence was interrupted by a soft whistle behind him, and Robin glanced over his shoulder. David's tall frame filled the doorway. "Soldiers did a number in here, didn't they?"

"And they will pay for it."

David inclined his head. "No doubt they will. The wagon is ready."

Robin nodded. "I'm done here."

"Hairpins?" David asked, nodding toward the ornamental pins in Robin's hand.

"They work very well for picking locks."

"And stabbing as well, I'm sure," David replied. "Those things look like daggers. And women actually wear those in their hair?"

"Apparently," Robin said, and he very nearly smiled as he thought of a time Marian had rather cleverly used her hairpin as a weapon. It was the day he became an outlaw by saving Allan and Will from the gallows. As Robin followed David down the stairs and outside Knighton Hall, he realized that day seemed a lifetime ago.

* * *

"No, the three leaf plant right there. You have to pull _that_ one out by the roots," Much explained as he picked a few more berries and dropped them into the pouch strapped at his waist. 

Sarah huffed as she straightened and placed her hands on her hips, glaring at Much. "_I _am not a plant expert. So maybe you should let me pick the berries while you pull weeds out by the roots since you already know what you're doing."

"Well, all right, fine," Much muttered as he exchanged pouches with Sarah. "But only pick the ripe, red ones."

"Yes, the ripe, red ones," Sarah repeated with a note of irritation. "I'm sure it cannot be that difficult. I'm not an idiot."

"This is important," Much replied. "Djaq needs very specific ingredients."

"And you are just angry because you are stuck here picking berries while Robin went with Tuck and David to Knighton," Sarah said as she started plucking berries without much care as to how red or how ripe they were.

Much glowered at her for a moment before turning back to his task without admitting she'd basically stated exactly why he was frustrated. He thought it was bad enough to include Tuck, Wat, David, and Sarah in their rescue plan to begin with. And he certainly thought it was a hundred times worse for Robin to head for Knighton with two people Much wasn't even barely convinced they could trust.

"If it makes you feel any better," Sarah said over her shoulder, "I don't wish to be stuck here picking berries either."

No, that really didn't make Much feel better. It certainly wasn't the part of gathering the ingredients Djaq needed that bothered Much. He just didn't like that his master was so willing to travel alone with David and Tuck. What if the two reneged on their promise? What if they decided to abandon Sarah and Wat and simply turn Robin over to Prince John themselves? Much shook his head as he squatted down and began digging out the three leafed plants by the roots. At that moment, Much couldn't think of another man more stubborn or more determined than his master. Whether or not Robin's decisions at the moment were advisable, it didn't matter. He'd made his decision, and once that happened, there was little that could dissuade him.

As he was focused on the plants in front of him with a singular concentration, Much was startled when he realized Sarah was standing in front of him. He glanced up. "Hopefully, you are not planning to hit me over the head again."

Sarah sighed. "No, I wasn't, though I am beginning to wonder if it wouldn't do you some good." Sarah paused, studying him for a moment. "Look, I know you and your friends don't like this idea. I can tell you I am certainly not thrilled either. But, obviously, I know you don't trust us. Honestly, you'd be an idiot to completely trust us without reservation. I just want you to know that none of us did it because we really wanted to, but you have no idea what it was like. We were given an offer, and we just took it. None of us, except maybe Tuck, stopped to think things through. We headed for Nottingham, we tracked you, and we captured you with every intention of taking you to Lackland. But I am glad now that Robin was clever enough to get free. I may not be happy about the rescue plan, but I am glad we are not on our way to London. And _that_ is the truth, whether you believe it or not."

Much watched Sarah for a moment, trying to figure out why she was telling him this and why she thought he'd believe her. Sarah probably thought he'd believe her because she did seem sincere.

When the silence stretched on, Sarah finally said, "Well, I just thought you should know that." Sarah spun on heel and stalked back over to the berry bush, apparently annoyed that Much hadn't said a word. But honestly, what was he supposed to say? Shaking his head, Much returned to the task at hand. At this point, Much didn't know what to believe. Of course Sarah sounded convincing, but then, Allan sounded convincing too when he lied.

Well, regardless of whether Much trusted them or not, it didn't matter. They were in this together whether or not they liked it. Still, it didn't mean Much had to be overly friendly. He and Sarah worked in silence until Much determined they'd gathered enough for Djaq. Then, they walked in silence back to camp.

As Much and Sarah returned to camp, they found that the others had already returned. Djaq hurried over and took the ingredients from them, offering Much a brief smile of gratitude for collecting everything. Immediately, she set to work.

Meanwhile, Much noticed his master and John deep in conversation. John didn't look happy with whatever Robin said, and quite before Much realized what was happening, John punched Robin. "Well, you told me to hit you hard!" John said as Robin stumbled and spit a good bit of blood out before he straightened.

"Master," Much began as he crossed the distance between him and John and Robin, "_what_ are you doing?"

"Making it look convincing," Robin replied.

"Making _what_ look convincing?"

"Being turned over to the Sheriff," Robin said. "Come now, Much, you do not think I would be captured without a fight, do you? And if there is a fight, I am not likely to get away unhurt."

"Well, that is a nice bloody lip you have," Much said. "John probably knocked out a tooth."

Robin paused for a moment. "No, I think they are all there. But one hit was plenty, I think. Thank you, John." Robin turned to Much. "You gathered everything Djaq needed?"

Much nodded. "Yes, we did."

"Good," Robin murmured. "We have the wagons, the barrels of ale from Locksley, and the empty barrels from the stables at Knighton. Once Djaq finishes the draught, we will leave."

"Master …"

Robin placed his hand on Much's shoulder. "This will work, but promise me one thing, Much."

Much studied his master and knew before Robin spoke the words that he was not going to like what he heard.

"Make sure Marian, Edward, and Allan make it out of there. Do not worry about me." Much opened his mouth to argue, but Robin cut him off. "No, promise me. I am counting on you to take care of Marian. If anything happens … just get her away from there." His grip tightened on Much's shoulder. "Promise me that."

Much drew in a deep breath, his gaze locking with Robin's. There was a desperate kind of urgency there – an almost frantic need for his master to know that someone would watch out for Marian if he couldn't. And Much knew there was no one else Robin would trust with that task. And as greatly as it pained him to promise he wouldn't worry for Robin's welfare, he nodded. "I will, I promise."

* * *

**A/N: **Well, some preparations before "the plan" finally goes into action, which I swear we'll see in the next chapter! I hope you enjoyed. 

Many thanks to … Threll … I know, I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. As always, thank you for the wonderful review. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Actually, I also wanted to comment on a previous review you left for me. I do love A Knight's Tale, and the jousting part with David and Gisborne was in part inspired by that … as well as Wat's physical description :) The other inspiration for that comes from The Last Arrow, the final book in Marsha Canham's "Robin Hood" trilogy in which a mercenary is hired to challenge and kill Robin in a jousting tournament. If you enjoy some romance and a lot of history (not to mention the much darker aspects of medieval England), those books are fabulous. It doesn't necessarily focus on Robin, but more on how the legend may have gotten started … … Thank you so much for the review! I'm glad you're enjoying. Marian probably will "suffer" some more emotionally before this is all said and done and hopefully learn to listen to Robin more often :) … u-ne-korn … Thanks so much! … scorpiagirl93 … Thank you! It is hard to write, which is why I'm probably going to stay out of Allan's head until the torture part is done … Kalli J. Wolfram … Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it and enjoyed the part from Allan's perspective. I was so worried it would come across as weird … Keiri Bradon … Thank you so much! We'll be seeing "the plan" unfold during the next chapter … Marian66 … lol … well, Allan still needs saving as of this point, but we'll see what we can do about that in the next chapter or so. Thanks again! … Capt. Cow … As always, thanks so much for your reviews! No, I don't think it's bad to be angry with Marian. I'm kind of blaming her for this mess myself, lol. Rescue should be getting underway very shortly :) And I can't wait to read more of your story as well! Hope to see an update soon! … Jacqueline Roget … Thanks so much for the review! Yes, I really do think Robin and Marian need to have that conversation. I hope they do get a chance to talk about it early on in the season. I'm personally hoping Marian ends up in Sherwood at some point this season :)

Thank you all again for reading and reviewing! You're the best!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters.

**A/N**: It has been awhile since I've watched Robin Hood, and I kind of feel like I've lost the Sheriff's character, so I hope you'll forgive me if he seems a bit off. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy, and thanks so much again for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Two soldiers stood guard at the gate to Nottingham Castle, an attempt by the Sheriff to lure Robin and his men into a false sense of security when they made their inevitable rescue attempt. Throughout the rest of the castle, the guard had been significantly increased, making any rescue attempt suicidal. In the gate towers, along the parapet, inside the castle corridors, on the grounds in general, nearly five score of extra men stood watch, almost tripling the typical level of guard inside the castle. Men had been recalled from various points within the shire, leaving many posts vacant. But apparently, the Sheriff was not concerned about anything troublesome occurring at those abandoned posts because he was gleefully certain Robin Hood and his men were only worried about one particular location, and that, of course, was the castle.

Not only had the Sheriff gathered all of his able resources, but it was apparent they would stand watch without rest until Robin Hood made his appearance. With a tired sigh, one of the soldiers at the gate shifted wearily on his feet. The day was not so warm, but the sun had shown clearly for the better part of the day. And dressed as he was with chain mail and armor and helmet, he felt as if he were roasting in the bowels of hell.

The soldier's name was Arthur de Lacy, and beside him stood a younger man, new to the Sheriff's employ. Arthur knew nothing for certain about the man beside him except that his name was Godfrey. But in the few hours since they'd become silent companions at the gate, Arthur saw enough of Godfrey to know he was like every other man new to the Sheriff's employ. Godfrey stood straight and attentive at his post with his attention focused, ready to take on any outlaws should they be bold enough to approach Nottingham today. Since Arthur and Godfrey took up their post, Godfrey had not said one word.

Arthur shook his head as he removed his helmet and attempted to wipe the sweat dripping from his brow. As he returned the helmet, he wagered Godfrey's over zealous attitude toward working for the Sheriff would falter before long. Once Godfrey realized the pittance he was to be paid in return for the abuse he would endure from both the Sheriff and Gisborne, his desire to please would fade, and Godfrey would become a mirror image of so many of the other soldiers – frustrated with their lot in life but unable to find another way to support their families. At least soldiers were not taxed like those poor fools who toiled for their livelihood in the villages – farmers, blacksmiths, and so on. After three years with the Sheriff, Arthur could count that as one of the few bonuses.

As the afternoon wore on, Arthur began to suspect that perhaps the Sheriff had been wrong in his assumption that Robin Hood would put in an appearance. Maybe this time, the blasted outlaw had enough sense to understand when the odds were stacked too heavily against him. It seemed odd, given the outlaw's history that Hood would leave his friends, which included the lovely Lady Marian, to their fates, but Arthur assumed Hood's noble attitude toward doing the right thing was bound to run its course eventually. Sometimes a man just needed to realize his own skin was far more important.

As Arthur toyed with the notion that Robin Hood had finally proven himself less noble than the peasants of Nottinghamshire would like to believe, two wagons converged from opposite directions in the distance. Both looked to be heading for the castle gate, and Arthur forced his weary body straighter so he appeared at least as attentive as the enthusiastic Godfrey.

"What do you make of it?" Arthur asked, venturing to speak with Godfrey for the first time.

Godfrey did not even look at him. "We'll know soon," he replied shortly, his tone effectively ending any further attempt at conversation on Arthur's part.

So, the two soldiers stood in silence as the first wagon clattered across the wooden bridge. The wagon and its two occupants, one slender man with fairly unremarkable features and one man with shockingly red hair, halted before the two soldiers. "Who are you and what business brings you to Nottingham?" Godfrey barked.

"I am David of Doncaster, good sirs. And this is my cousin and associate, Wat." Wat inclined his head at the introduction. "It is the Sheriff's generous reward which brings us to Nottingham on this fine day."

"The Sheriff's reward?" Godfrey questioned.

"Well, yes, the reward for the capture of Robin Hood."

Godfrey and Arthur exchanged an incredulous glance. "You've captured Robin Hood?" Arthur asked in utter disbelief. This certainly wasn't what the Sheriff had planned on. In fact, Arthur was certain no one could have predicted such a turn of events. The Sheriff had offered that reward months ago to no avail. The peasants would never betray their hero even for the liberal amount of gold the Sheriff offered for him, dead or alive, but preferably alive.

"Excuse me? But might we move this along? I do have an important delivery to make."

Arthur glanced at the second wagon where an older, heavier man with a barrel chest tried to summon their attention. "You can just bloody well wait your turn, old man," Arthur snapped before turning his attention back to David of Doncaster and Wat. Meanwhile, Godfrey was already at the back of David's wagon, searching the cargo. Arthur hastened to Godfrey's side.

There was a lone man in the back of the wagon. His hands and feet were bound, and he appeared unconscious. At least, he wasn't making an attempt to move or struggle even as Godfrey twined his fingers roughly through the man's hair and forced his head up so they could both get a good look at the man's face. A soft groan escaped his lips, but he otherwise made no sound or protest. His mouth was swollen with dried blood at the corner. And for a moment, Arthur simply stared. He could not believe it. If he wasn't staring the truth in the face, he wouldn't believe it.

"Satisfied?" David demanded. When neither man replied but continued to gawk at the unconscious Robin Hood, David said, "Well, now, you know, it would be nice to see about getting my gold. If either one of you could be so kind as to send for the Sheriff, I'd be much obliged."

There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice that jarred Arthur's attention. "Yes, of course. I will inform the Sheriff immediately."

"No, _I_ will inform the Sheriff," Godfrey said. "Sir Guy instructed _me_ to tell him or the Sheriff if anything were to happen. They are occupied in the dungeons with another prisoner."

Annoyed, Arthur waved the younger man off. "Fine then, go. I will take our guests to the Sheriff's quarters. He will want to meet them there, I am sure."

As Godfrey hurried off and Arthur moved to lead David and Wat through the castle gates, there was a soft cough from behind him. "Excuse me, but may I pass as well?"

With an irritated sigh, Arthur turned his attention back to the second wagon. "What business?"

"My master bade me bring a sample of his finest beverage to the Sheriff and his people in Nottingham. It is Lord Hastings' dearest hope to extend and demonstrate his goodwill to our noble lord Sheriff." The older man leaned forward. "No doubt you fine soldiers will enjoy the finest ale in the shire before night's end, what with the capture of Robin Hood. A good day it is, my friend! A good day!"

Arthur nearly smiled. "Yes, the Sheriff will be in a rare mood. Perhaps you'll bring me a sample once the barrels are unloaded?"

"Yes, of course," the older man said jovially. "Where would you have me unload the barrels?"

"You can deliver it to the kitchens," Arthur instructed. "The maids will know what to do with it."

That said Arthur turned his attention back to the bounty hunters and their prize catch. Eager to escort them to the castle, Arthur never bothered to inspect the cargo the older man carried. Of course, there were plenty of barrels of ale and wine. But if Arthur had chosen to be vigilant in his duties and inspect every barrel passing through the gate, he would have discovered a few outlaws sneaking their way into Nottingham Castle.

* * *

Marian bit her lip until she tasted blood. It was all she could do to keep from crying out or to keep from foolishly begging the Sheriff and Gisborne to leave Allan. Marian was not stupid. She realized there was a darker side to the life she lived, a side where men were tortured for little more than sport and amusement. She understood that there were methods of cruel and unusual punishment. Prince John's subjugators, thought to be the Devil's apprentices, were notorious for it, and the Tower of London had long since become synonymous with Hell. Though Marian had heard the stories, she somehow naively hoped things like that did not occur here, not in Nottingham, the shire and home she loved. But the truth was laid bare before her, and it was an image she knew would haunt her to the end of her days. 

Allan was stretched before her, his stomach and chest a mass of burns, some of them beginning to blister and puss. Marian was not a physician nor did she have a vast working knowledge of medicine, but even the most incompetent of people would realize that if those wounds were not treated properly, Allan would soon be suffering from fever and infection.

Marian winced as Flynn pulled the lever again, stretching Allan so impossibly far it was a wonder his joints had yet to give under the pressure. Despite that, it was a miracle the man had yet to utter a sound. Marian didn't know how he took it in silence, but he did. She suspected that was his only way of fighting what they were doing to him. They wanted to hear him cry and beg; Marian could sense the Sheriff's irritation at not getting his wish. His prodding with the hot iron became more agitated and forceful, and he was instructing Flynn to pull the lever with more consistency. Veins stood out vividly along Allan's arms, his muscles protesting to the length with which they were being forced. Meanwhile, Gisborne took this all in with his usual stoic silence. He hadn't made a move, and he hadn't said a word. He just watched, and Marian's stomach knotted with a burning rage. More than the Sheriff, more than Flynn, Marian loathed Gisborne for standing by and simply watching. Robin had tried to tell her there was nothing good about Gisborne, but for a moment – if only for a moment – she had thought she saw something better in him, something that separated him from the Sheriff. But he was a monster, just like the Sheriff and just like so many other men who could stand by and watch another man's torture with satisfaction and even enjoyment. And it angered her that she had been so horribly wrong about him. He was pitiless and vindictive, and if things were this horrific for Allan, she could not imagine what they planned for Robin.

Yet, despite how much she despised the Sheriff and Gisborne, she hated herself even more. This was, essentially, her fault. She might as well be the one handling the pincers or pulling the lever. She might as well be the one torturing another man because she was the reason Allan was here, all because her pride wouldn't let her listen to reason. She'd thought she knew what she was doing, but she never could have imagined these consequences.

The Sheriff exchanged the slowly cooling pincers for a new set, one right off the fire. "Give me the names, Edward," the Sheriff said as he pressed the hot iron to Allan's flesh again. Marian choked back yet another cry as she watched the skin sizzle and his body buck against the searing pain. There was hardly a spot on his chest not covered with grotesque burns, but despite the agony, he continued to keep his lips pressed tightly together, withholding the scream ready to burst from his mouth. "Tell me, and you can save this man's life."

After a few silent, tense moments, Allan drew in a few harsh, ragged breaths. "No," he gasped. "D-don't you b-bloody do it." Allan turned, his glare focusing on Edward. "Don't."

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow, looking between Allan, Edward, and Marian. "Such _noble_ sacrifice," the Sheriff finally said to Allan. "It's all _very_ touching, you know. Don't you agree, Gisborne?"

For a moment, Gisborne stood quiet, his arms folded and his face unreadable. Oddly enough, Marian thought he flicked a brief glance in her direction, but in the dim lighting, she couldn't be sure. "Yes, very touching," Gisborne replied, his voice low. "I only wonder if Hood will last without screaming as long as this one has."

"You disgust me," Marian snapped, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.

"Marian!" Edward said, clearly trying to keep her from making a fatal error in provoking Gisborne.

"He is an outlaw," Gisborne replied, his eyes never meeting hers.

"He is a person," Marian returned, unable to bear this in silence any longer.

"Hardly," the Sheriff said. "But, I see we've upset you're _delicate_ sensibilities. Well, if you'd like, I could just kill him and set to work on your dear father here." Vasey drew out a dagger and pressed it against Allan's throat.

"No!" Marian cried as a thin line of blood appeared along the edge of the blade.

"Ah," Vasey said, pulling the dagger away slightly, "I see. So, in other words, your father is more of a person than this man since you would prefer to see his torture over your father's. Hmm, interesting. Having morals must be _very_ trying." The Sheriff tapped the blade against Allan's blistered chest, causing the man to wince every time the metal connected with his flesh. "Let me try this one and see what you say. What if I tell you to put your hand on that lever and pull it or I'll kill him? What would your delicate sensibilities and high morals say to that?"

Marian stared at the Sheriff, utterly horrified by his proposition. "I …"

"Or, of course, Edward could get over his little memory loss problem, and give me names," the Sheriff said.

"Don't give him the bloody names!" Allan exploded, startling Marian.

The Sheriff grinned. "Well, you seem so eager to give advice. Maybe you could tell us whether you want to live or die. Marian seems to be having a _teensy_ little bit of trouble making a decision."

Allan didn't have to say it. At that second, Marian knew he wanted to tell the Sheriff to just kill him – to just end it. But he didn't. Maybe he feared the Sheriff would actually torture her father, or maybe he still hoped this wouldn't be the end if he just held on for a little longer. Maybe Robin would still come.

"Pull the lever." His voice was barely a whisper, his strength was failing.

"No, I …"

"Well, you heard the man," the Sheriff said. "He's not ready to die just yet, which is, of course, all the better for me. Gisborne, perhaps you could assist your ex-bride-to-be."

Gisborne hesitated while Edward exclaimed, "Stop this at once! I will … I will tell you the names, just stop. There was … there was Pembroke, and … and … de Brewer."

Marian stared at her father. Pembroke and de Brewer were staunchly loyal to the Sheriff and the new regime. And they were fond supporters of Prince John and sincerely hoped the king died in the Holy Land. It wasn't likely the Sheriff was fool enough to buy into her father's lies.

The Sheriff appeared to consider that for a moment before he said, "Now, Edward, I do believe you're lying to me, which means you haven't been convinced enough. Oh well, all the more fun for me. Gisborne!"

Gisborne moved toward her, taking Marian by the arm. She struggled in his grip, but he yanked her forward until they were both standing beside the rack, displacing Flynn who looked disappointed to now be excluded from the torture. Marian's hand trembled as Gisborne placed it on the lever. He stood close to her, and his nearness sent chills down Marian's spine. She felt dirty, like she would never be able to wash herself clean of this moment.

Her hand shook as she wrapped it around the lever. Her eyes swept the length of the nearly broken man stretched out before her.

She had done this. This was her fault, her guilt to shoulder.

"I would suggest moving faster," the Sheriff said. He had the blade still at Allan's throat. "I really don't plan to wait all day."

Allan's eyes met hers. "Do it."

Her stomach revolted, but she drew a deep breath, keeping the bile from rising in the back of her throat. She pushed on the lever, but her strength wasn't enough to push it any further as it was already being forced to the limit. But without warning, Gisborne's hand closed over hers, and the lever went down.

Marian gagged and her knees buckled as Allan's one shoulder popped from its socket. The only thing that kept her from the floor was Gisborne while Allan tried valiantly to keep from yelling out. A small, strangled cry of pain escaped his lips but he otherwise held it in, breathing harshly, his face reddening with the effort of holding his agony inside.

At that moment, the door to the chamber burst open. "My lord!" the soldier exclaimed. Marian didn't know how, but the man seemed oblivious to what was so obviously going on before him. His excitement never dimmed.

"Yes, what is it?" the Sheriff snapped.

"Bounty hunters, my lord," the soldier said, sounding somewhat out of breath as if he had sprinted to the dungeons. "They have captured Robin Hood! I saw him tied up myself."

Marian's heart dropped into her stomach at the soldier's words as all hope fled. She felt like little more than a wooden shell as a slow, predatory smile spread over the Sheriff's face. It was over. Robin wasn't coming to the rescue. Instead, he was a prisoner just like they were.

"Well, now, this _is_ interesting," the Sheriff murmured. He patted Allan on the chest, and Allan closed his eyes tight against the fresh assault on his burned flesh. "See these three back to their cells. I'll finish with them later. I have to welcome our new guest."

* * *

**A/N: **All right, so not so much in the way of "the plan" yet. Sorry, but this story is turning out longer than I expected. Each time I think something is going to happen in a particular chapter, it gets pushed back because I end up writing things I never really intended to, like this last part with Marian, Allan, etc. 

Many thanks to … cross42 … I am sorry, but I realized that in my last thank you session, it didn't like putting your entire name. For whatever reason, I posted, and it deleted it. But there was a response there for you, and I just wanted to say thank you again … Marian66 … lol, sorry to hear you're not happy with Allan at the moment. And I truly hope Marian is in Sherwood by the end of the second season! Thanks again for the review … Threll … As always, thank you so much! Yes, it was a bit tedious to write preparation because I have all this stuff crammed in my head right now for "the plan," and I just want to get it out … hopefully coherently :) But I am glad you enjoyed it. Thank you again … Christibelle … Thanks so much! Glad to hear you're enjoying … Brennan on the Moor … As always, thank you! I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the part with Robin and Much. It seemed like a Robin thing to do :) … scorpiagirl93 … Thank you! And yes, it was a fast update, probably record time for me :) Again, I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it … RixxiSpooks … Thanks so much! You know, initially I did plan for Sarah to at least know Allan, but with the way the story has gone, I'm not sure if that's actually going to happen. So, at this point, Sarah is just a regular old liar :) Thanks again! … Kalli J. Wolfram … Thank you so much! As always, so happy to hear you're enjoying! … Keiri Bradon … lol, thanks so much! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it so much … … As always, thank you! I thought you'd enjoy the part with Will and Djaq :) I definitely plan to have a scene later on for the two of them, but I have to admit for all that I'm a big softie, romantic at heart, I have a heck of a time writing the sentimental parts. So we'll just keep our fingers crossed that doesn't end up being a train wreck or a trip to Cheeseville or anything disastrous like that :) … JosephineInLove … Thanks so much! I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying the story, and I'm glad you liked the bit with Will and Djaq. Just know that I could never fatally wound Robin, but that's all I'll say :) Thanks again!

Again, thank you for reading and reviewing!


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **Even though its been three months since I last wrote, I haven't miraculously managed to acquire the rights to these Robin Hood characters. So ... yeah. They're not mine.

**A/N**: All right, obviously it's been forever and a day since I last updated. Not only have I suffered through a horrendous bout of writer's block (I think this chapter must've gone through about a hundred rewrites … at least it feels that way), but I've got to tell all my loyal and wonderful readers that my husband and I are expecting our first child in May, and I'm so darn exhausted all the time that creativity just hasn't been coming easily to me over the past few months. Any bursts of creativity I do have are more or less reserved for my original work.

Also, I'd just like to say I'm hoping to begin re-watching the first season again pretty soon because it's been months since I've watched an episode. I feel like I'm struggling with writing some of the characters just because I forget.

So, read, hope you enjoy, and I will give my best effort not to go months again without updating!

* * *

**Chapter 15**

Despite the Sheriff's belief to the contrary, Guy of Gisborne wasn't a fool. As he oversaw the prisoners escorted back to their cell, it occurred to him that something didn't ring quite true about Robin Hood's miraculous capture. The Sheriff had offered that reward for Hood months prior, and every bounty hunter in Nottinghamshire had ample time and opportunity to bring the outlaw to justice. Yet no one ever had. To Gisborne's knowledge, no one had even made an attempt. Now, conveniently, on the day when Nottingham Castle was prepared for Hood and his friends like never before, a mysterious bounty hunter appears on their doorstep with Hood wrapped up in a neat little package.

That seemed too perfect a coincidence to be merely a coincidence, which was why Gisborne suspected a trick. Though he couldn't fathom what Hood planned by turning himself over, Gisborne couldn't help but credit the outlaw with figuring out a rather clever way of entering the castle with the increased security. Of course, that streak of cleverness would only make it all the sweeter for Gisborne to bring Hood to his knees – to prove, at last, who the better man really was. He would take the utmost satisfaction in seeing Hood stretched out on the Rack, begging for mercy.

As the prisoners were returned to their cell, Gisborne stood back at a distance, savoring the fact that Hood was nearly within his grasp. Though he realized the Sheriff would be expecting him shortly, the thought of Hood's capture made Gisborne's eyes seek Marian. She did not spare him a glance. Her sole attention was for the injured outlaw, but Gisborne couldn't help but watch her. In that moment, she appeared completely innocent, completely harmless as she kneeled over the wounded outlaw and begged one of the jailers for a clean basin of water.

It was strange to reconcile this woman with the one who had so thoroughly betrayed him. His cheek still smarted with the remembrance of her quick and well executed punch, and his insides still seethed with the knowledge that she had so cleverly hidden her alter ego for so long. She wasn't so harmless, and she wasn't so innocent. She was adept as the Nightwatchman, and Gisborne didn't doubt for a second that she was also Hood's lover, another secret which she'd cunningly hid since Hood's return from the Holy Land. She'd played her part well – so well that Gisborne had been blinded to her true motives.

And Gisborne knew he should hate her. In fact, a very large part of him now despised everything she stood for. Still, there was that tiny piece of him that could not forget how it had felt when he'd thought, if only for a second, that he'd begun to sway her affections favorably towards him. He still wanted her; that was a fact he could not ignore despite how she'd deceived him. He wanted her to care for him the way she so obviously cared for Hood. That was the only reason he could think of for why he ordered the belligerent jailer to give Marian the basin of water she wanted.

The order startled Marian, Gisborne could tell. In fact, it startled him slightly too. But he shook it off as he turned on heel and left the dungeon. As he passed the two guards stationed just outside, he muttered, "No one enters, understand?"

"Yes, sir," they replied in unison.

Satisfied, Gisborne began the trek up to the Sheriff's quarters. He was anxious to meet these mysterious bounty hunters who'd managed the impossible.

* * *

Tuck drew in a few steadying breaths as he passed through the gate to Nottingham Castle. Admittedly, he had not expected it to go so smoothly. He rather thought the guard would at least inspect a few of the barrels instead of just waving him on. But the incompetence or just plain disinterest on the part of the soldiers was not Tuck's concern. He could only be grateful for it as he steered the wagon unchallenged through the grounds of Nottingham. 

He stopped beside a middle aged woman peddling fruit to ask for directions to the castle's kitchens. It wasn't long before Tuck tugged on the horse's reins, pulling the wagon to a stop near the kitchens. He hadn't counted on soldiers guarding the kitchens of all places. He forced a pleasant smile as one of the guards strode purposefully toward him.

"All deliveries have been made for the day. What do you want?" the guard barked. Suspicion laced his voice. Meanwhile, the second soldier made his way around the wagon. He pulled back the tarp and randomly began opening barrels. Apparently, these soldiers had been warned about people trying to smuggle anything into the kitchens … or anywhere else for that matter. They were a bit more diligent about performing their duty than the soldiers at the gate.

"It is a special delivery from my master Lord Hastings. He wishes to extend his compliments to our noble lord Sheriff with a sampling of the finest ale in the shire." Tuck continued to smile warmly, maintaining his calm façade despite the fact that the second soldier might at any moment choose a barrel that contained a good bit more than ale. It wouldn't do anyone any good if he panicked, so he swallowed his apprehension and kept breathing slowly and evenly.

Tuck cleared his throat when the first soldier continued to study him warily. "Perhaps you fine gentlemen would care for a small taste? After all, there is much to celebrate in Nottingham today."

The first soldier snorted. "What's there to celebrate, old man?" he demanded. "We've been standing here all bloody day without break or even a spot of fun. But you say we ought to celebrate?"

"Why, my good man, haven't you heard?" Tuck asked. "Bounty hunters have captured Robin Hood. I was at the gate myself when they brought him in. And I saw him, bound and unconscious, in the back of their wagon. Robin Hood's been taken to the Sheriff."

The first soldier laughed. "Oi, I think you're bloody daft, old man."

Behind him, Tuck heard yet another barrel lid fall to the dirt, and he was beginning to wonder if the second soldier was going to check the entire stock before he was satisfied. If that were the case, they were done for. Another lid fell to the dirt, but then, to Tuck's immense relief, the second soldier called from behind the wagon, "Its just ale!"

The first soldier nodded curtly. "All right then. I'll see that some of the kitchen staff are sent out to help you unload."

"Good sir," Tuck began before the first soldier could turn around, "I was told by the guard at the gate to speak with Julia. He informed me that she handles most of the deliveries to the castle kitchens."

The first soldier shrugged. "How the bloody hell should I know? But if that's what you were told, I'll ask one of the maids for her."

Tuck inclined his head. "My gratitude, good sir. I will be sure to inform Lord Hastings that the hospitality in Nottingham Castle is without parallel."

Tuck received something that sounded like a disbelieving snort in response, but all the same, the first soldier entered the kitchens to inquire after Julia. So far, so good, Tuck thought, utterly relieved that they had passed the first phase of the plan without any real trouble. Now, however, he had to hope that Julia would accept the offering he gave her as evidence he was working for Robin Hood. Without her help, things would become significantly more difficult … as if their situation really could become more complicated.

It wasn't long before a strikingly tall, formidable young woman with raven hair and stern but handsome features emerged from the door. She was followed by the first soldier who carried two wooden cups with him. The soldier grinned as he raised the cups. "Thought I'd take you up on the sample offer," he said.

Tuck nodded. "By all means," he replied. "Lord Hastings' generosity is not for the Sheriff alone to share."

As the two soldiers congregated behind the wagon, Tuck turned his attention back to Julia, who watched him coldly. Tuck imagined she had expected someone else to greet her and was not happy to find someone she did not recognize asking for her.

Slowly, Tuck descended from the wagon. He untied the small coin purse from about his waist. "I was told by a mutual friend to give you this."

Julia hesitated. Then, she took the purse. Quickly, she glanced about to be certain the soldiers were occupied elsewhere before she opened the pouch. Inside there was an offering of gold coins as well as a wooden tag – the ones that were only worn by members of Robin Hood's gang.

Julia's eyes met Tuck's, and she offered him a brief nod of understanding. "We'll take care of this delivery immediately." She spun on her heel and disappeared back inside the kitchens. It wasn't exactly what Tuck expected. He had hoped for a moment to speak with Julia in private, to let her know what the situation was. The barrels of ale weren't just there to smuggle the outlaws inside Nottingham Castle. It had been Robin's hope that the ale would make it into the hands of as many soldiers as possible. After all, Djaq hadn't mixed up that sleeping draught just to flavor the ale. The more potent draught was reserved for the dungeon guards (and the Sheriff and Gisborne if they were incredibly lucky), but Djaq informed them that what remained for the rest of the ale would still be enough to disorient the soldiers who drank it though it wouldn't know them out completely. Considering their odds, disoriented soldiers were better than nothing.

Of course, Tuck wanted to inform Julia of this detail, but he supposed he would have to let the others, currently crammed and hiding inside the barrels, discuss the finer points of the plan with Julia. Right now, Tuck had completed his first part in the larger scheme of Robin's plan. For now he could only wait for the wagon to be unloaded before he took it to his position near the front gate.

While he waited, Tuck offered a brief prayer that things went as well for the others.

* * *

David of Doncaster realized something wasn't right the moment Guy of Gisborne entered the Sheriff's quarters. After years of dealing with situations that required instinct to survive, David knew Gisborne suspected something. It didn't help matters when Gisborne's gaze fell on David, and it didn't take longer than a second for Gisborne to recognize him. He saw the surprised recognition widen Gisborne's eyes for the barest of moments before his face became impassive once more. 

And maybe he was taking a chance, but the instinct that had kept him alive when death should've found him a hundred times over told David it wouldn't go in his favor if Gisborne was the first to acknowledge their former acquaintance. So far, David didn't think the Sheriff suspected a thing, but he might if Gisborne spoke first.

"Gisborne," David greeted with a nod of his head. "You're certainly the last person I expected to see again."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the Sheriff said, "What is this, Gisborne? You know this man?"

Gisborne's shrewd eyes never left David. "Yes, unfortunately," Gisborne replied. "I knew him from my days at the tourneys. Strange seeing you in England, David."

"Yes, well, better bounties to hunt here. Aquitaine is nothing but tourneys, and seeing as how my days in the lists are long gone, I needed better hunting grounds. So here I am, quite willing and ready to collect the gold on this man's head." David nodded toward the man on the floor between him and the Sheriff. Robin was still feigning unconsciousness. They had already discussed this and came to the conclusion that it would be better if Robin didn't regain consciousness for the Sheriff's benefit. Robin wanted to end up in the dungeons as soon as possible, and that wasn't likely to happen if he were awake.

David saw the unmitigated expression of delight cross the Sheriff's face. It was a look that made David nearly shudder to think what the Sheriff would do to all of them if this plan didn't work. There was something about the Sheriff that reminded David of Prince John's subjugators inside the torture chambers of the Tower. The Sheriff would've fit in there quite well.

Silence stretched within the room, and David sensed that some unspoken understanding passed between the Sheriff and Gisborne, something that did not bode well for David, Robin, Wat, and the others. Things were not moving as smoothly as David would've wanted, but then he never expected them to.

"Gisborne, perhaps you could escort our guests to their reward – see that they get the gold coming to them."

Out of the corner of his eye, David noticed Wat shift uncomfortably. If even Wat sensed something was wrong then there was something _seriously_ amiss. So David pulled out the last possible thing he could think of. "I think the gold should be brought here. The easier you make it for us, the easier I can make it for you."

The Sheriff raised his eyebrow, and David knew immediately he'd tread into dangerous waters by making demands of the Sheriff. So, for the second time in the span of barely ten minutes, David knew he was taking a chance, but if he didn't find a way to remedy the situation quickly then this entire mission was in peril.

"I thought you'd be interested in more than Hood," David said. "I actually thought you'd prefer the set."

"The set," the Sheriff repeated slowly. "What are you talking about?"

"You know the giant, the Saracen, the carpenter, and the manservant. See, here's the thing," David continued before the Sheriff could even open his mouth, "I have them. They're all in a safe place in Sherwood. So, you give me half the bounty on this one's head then Wat and I'll go fetch the rest of them for you for the other half of the bounty." As the Sheriff at least took a moment to consider this, David pressed his advantage, however meager it may have been, "Trust me, it would be to your benefit to have a very public hanging of Robin Hood and his entire gang. I've just recently come from London, and there are Robin Hood copycats all over the place. Prince John wants Robin's head on a spike and he's … well, let's just say he's unhappy that you've yet to deal with the problem."

The Sheriff and Gisborne exchanged a glance, but the Sheriff remained silent as his eyes then narrowed on David, studying him, considering what he had said. Of course there was absolutely no reason for the Sheriff to believe a word of what David said, though it was true; Prince John wasn't pleased with the Sheriff. But the Sheriff wasn't a fool. He hadn't become the Sheriff of Nottingham by being a complete idiot, and he understood how quickly his fortunes could change under Prince John's regime. It was no secret that Prince John was a temperamental man, prone to violent fits. His moods were fickle and people could literally fall in and out of favor with him within minutes. No one's position was secure, though, naturally, the further away from London one was, the better. Still, the Sheriff had to realize Prince John was bound to hear of Robin Hood and the Sheriff's inability to bring the outlaw to justice.

A foolish man might ignore David and simply dismiss his words as unfounded. But the Sheriff enjoyed his position of power, and he would not want to lose it, let alone anger Prince John. David could see the Sheriff considering his position, weighing the consequences and deciding if it was worth it to trust David even if he couldn't prove there was any truth to David's words.

Finally, the Sheriff said, "Gisborne, see that these gentlemen get half the gold. They'll get the other half when they've brought me the rest of the outlaws." He nudged the "unconscious" Robin with the toe of his boot. "And take this one to the dungeons. Torture's no fun if he's sleeping."

Gisborne didn't offer any argument, but he spared David a glance, and that one glance said it all. Maybe the Sheriff was willing to take a chance to avoid a potential disaster with Prince John, but Gisborne wasn't so ready to believe it. His suspicion was almost palpable, and David knew Gisborne was going to make the execution of this master plan a great deal more complicated.

* * *

Many thanks to … **gatewatcher** … Thanks so much, glad you enjoyed … **Keiri Bradon** … I just want to let you know that your emails did not fall on deaf ears. I certainly kept them in mind as I fought my way through this chapter. Thank you for keeping me motivated … **Marjatta** … Thank you so much for the review! I struggled with the torture scene because it isn't something fun to write, but I'm glad you felt I handled it well. Thank you … **CaptCow**… As always, thank you a million times over! Your reviews always make me smile. I'm glad you felt the Sheriff stayed in character. I really need to watch season one and get in tune with all the characters again. But again, thank you. I always look forward to seeing your reviews … **Threll** … Thanks so much! I worried about writing that scene, but I'm glad it worked. Again, thank you … **RixxiSpooks** … Thanks so much! Glad you like Wat's character. And please believe me, I take no joy in torturing Allan. I love him, and I'm certainly not trying to punish him for what's gone down in season two … **scully42** … Thanks so much! Your review made me blush, and smile a big, cheesy smile, of course! I'm so happy you're enjoying it … **scorpiagirl93** … Thanks so much, I'm glad you're enjoying! I love Allan too :-D … **YouLuvMeCosImCrazy** … Thanks so much! I truly appreciate it, and I'm so happy to hear you're enjoying the story … **Mira-and-Allan** … lol, thanks so much for the review. For the sake of this fanfic, we'll just pretend Allan didn't do what he did in season two. Again, thank you! I'm so glad you're reading and enjoying! … **Jacqueline Roget** … lol, well Marian should know better, but I suppose times are desperate and hopeless, and its easy to believe the worst. Thanks for the review! … **twilite princess** … Thanks so much for the review! I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying it … **JosephineInLove** … Thanks so much for the review. I truly appreciate it. I hope to become reacquainted with the characters during the Robin Hood season one marathon I've planned for this coming weekend. It's been too long since I've watched the show. Again, thank you … **Kisume A.W.** … Thanks so much for the review! I'm always happy to hear that you're enjoying it … **Boys Don't Cry** … Thank you … and I apologize for not even updating remotely soon. Hope you keep enjoying! … **ness345** … Thanks so much! I appreciate it, and I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying the story … **penguinsrpals** … Thanks so much! I'm happy to hear you're enjoying it! 

All right, I hope I didn't forget anyone. If I did, please forgive me. Once again, thank you all for reading and reviewing!


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **Once again, not mine. Characters belong to the BBC and probably some other people, but I don't know who they are. I just know it's not me.

**A/N**: Just a delirious bit with Allan, and Robin and Marian finally cross paths again for the first time since chapter one … Hope you all enjoy! Thanks again for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 16**

"_I'm dying."_

_Allan didn't know whether he said the words aloud or if he was dreaming or if he really were dead. Perhaps the latter because he didn't feel any pain, and he knew for a fact his body was a mass of burn wounds. Then, of course, there was the dislocated shoulder. _

_Bloody Sheriff. __Bloody Gisborne. He really hated both of them at the moment, and hate was putting it mildly. He didn't consider himself a man who enjoyed watching the suffering of others, but he could make and exception for the Sheriff and Gisborne. In fact, he'd want front row seats to that show. But the excessive torture of the Sheriff and Gisborne seemed about as likely as Allan being crowned the next King of England. _

_Allan groaned. _"_I'm dead, aren't I?"_

"_Well, not exactly dead, not yet anyway. But, all things considered, you probably will die. I mean, there are so many wounds. And they'll become infected, and you'll die of a fever."_

_Allan opened his eyes. Everything was hazy, lights and shadows dancing together. The only thing he could make out was a woman kneeling beside him. She had a cloth in her hand, and she was gently rubbing down his chest with cool water. It felt nice, considering the hell he'd just gone through. _

_Then he squinted, wondering if he were seeing the woman correctly. It couldn't possibly be … "Ellen?" he whispered. But she didn't have to answer for him to know. There could be no mistaking that face, that golden hair, those deep blue eyes … or the fact that Ellen didn't skirt the issue. If he really were dying, she'd be the first to tell him. She was probably the most direct woman he'd ever known, except when it came to him. Her inability to make a choice had driven him insane until he'd finally told her that she deserved better than him. And, as he'd reflected earlier, before his torture session, he'd heard she had found someone better than him – a baron with wealth, at any rate._

"_Well, who did you expect?"_

"_But I haven't seen you … it's been years. You know, not bein' funny, but won't your husband be a bit upset about you being here? If he finds out you're here then he'll be angry. And if he's angry, I'll have to fight him. And honestly, love, I'm not in any condition to fight anyone."_

"_Well, look," Ellen said as she leaned closer, "I won't tell my husband that you are hallucinating if you don't. Deal?"_

"_Hallucinating?" Allan repeated. "I thought I was dead."_

"_Dying," Ellen corrected._

"_Oh … right," Allan replied. "Well, do you think … you know, not bein' … well, _honestly_ not bein' funny, but do you think you could stay for a bit? Not for long. Just … I wouldn't mind the company. It's nice to have someone around when you're dying."_

"_So, you've died before?" Ellen asked, sounding amused._

"_Well … no. First timer actually," Allan replied. "But I've always heard people don't like dying alone."_

_Ellen smiled – that same smile he'd fallen for so many years ago. "I'll stay as long as you want, Allan. I promise."_

"_Thanks," Allan murmured before things started going completely dark around him once more and a fiery pain burned a torturous path along his chest._

* * *

Kneeling beside the battered and beaten Allan-a-Dale, Marian winced as Allan groaned but did not open his eyes. Tentatively, she removed the rag and dipped it back into the basin of water. She wrung out the excess and continued to dab uselessly at the man's wounds. He moaned once more before falling utterly silent and still, something which frightened Marian more than his small protestations to her care. She certainly didn't wish him to feel pain, but at least if he were feeling _something_ it meant he was still alive, still fighting. 

Though Marian realized her meager care was doing nothing to help Allan. He needed a physician, and even then the wounds were so sever that Marian feared even a physician couldn't save Allan from the infection that would inevitably set in.

"He's dying," Marian whispered, the words catching in her throat.

"Marian …"

Marian did not turn toward her father. She couldn't seem to look anywhere but Allan's face. "I killed him. If I had just listened … but I couldn't do that, could I?"

"Marian, please," Edward said, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder, "do not blame yourself for the cruelties of men like the Sheriff and Gisborne. This is not – and never could be – your fault. You did what you thought was right, and you should never blame yourself for that."

Marian bit her lip and nodded, but she still could not look away from Allan. She tried to take comfort in her father's words, but she could not forgive herself. She may not have been the one to put hot irons to Allan's flesh. She may not have been the one enjoying the agony of another person. But wasn't she the reason they were all here? The Sheriff wouldn't have had the opportunity to commit this atrocity if she hadn't stayed at Knighton.

"And I know you will not listen to me," her father concluded when the silence stretched between them.

Her father was right. His words sounded nice, and she wished she could believe them, but it was impossible. Defeated, she just continued to stare helplessly at Allan, and she was so intent on his still form, her hopeless prayers willing him to live, that the sound of the dungeon door banging open caused her to jump with surprise. Tearing her eyes away from Allan, Marian grasped the rusted bars of her cell and pulled herself to her feet as Guy of Gisborne entered the dungeon. He was followed by two soldiers who were dragging a limp body between them.

Her heart plummeted into the region of her stomach, and her grip tightened on the cell bars until her knuckles turned white. She watched the soldiers toss Robin into the cell diagonal from hers. Marian viewed him anxiously, waiting for him to move or offer some small sign of life. But he didn't even twitch from the spot he was dumped in. The cell door clanged shut behind Robin's motionless body, and the jailer shuffled over to lock the door. After that, he pocketed the key ring.

"Leave us," Gisborne muttered to the jailer and the soldiers. They promptly obeyed, and Gisborne turned his attention to Marian. "I thought you could use the company." He waved a hand in Robin's direction.

"How kind," Marian bit out as Gisborne moved closer to her cell.

"Hood will die."

"He has outsmarted you before," Marian pointed out. "I don't see why this time should be any different." She flinched as Gisborne raised his hand, but he didn't strike. Instead he just flexed his hand and lowered it back to rest on the hilt of the sword strapped about his waist.

"I have one question."

"And I am sure you will not like my answer," Marian returned, wishing she could do far more than merely banter words with him. She wished she could punch the smug look of satisfaction from his face.

"Will you die with him?"

Merely out of curiosity, Marian asked, "What is my other option?"

"You lied to me," Gisborne said. "You will still be punished for that. But I can save you from death. I would still have you … as my wife."

Marian made a strangled sound of disbelief. Gisborne was a conflicted man, of that she had no doubt. She could see it in the way he looked at her now – part hatred and part desire. Marian lifted her chin, meeting his gaze directly. "I will die with Robin. I would rather die a hundred times over by his side than be your wife."

Visibly, Gisborne clenched his jaw, his eyes murderously dark, and, for the barest of moments, Marian saw his grip tighten on the hilt of his sword. Involuntarily, Marian took a step backward. She was almost certain he was ready to plunge the sword straight through her.

But he only said, "So be it." Still, Marian knew there was far more to those few words. She knew he would see to it that her death was not quick or merciful.

As Gisborne left the dungeon, Marian slid to her knees. "Robin," Marian whispered. "Please wake up."

With almost no hesitation, Robin startled her by rising up to a sitting position. "I wish I could've seen the look on Gisborne's face when you said that to him."

"Robin!" Relief poured through Marian. "Are you all right? What happened? How were you caught?" She watched as he undid the bounds around his hands and feet. She frowned at how easily he freed himself. It was as if the ropes hadn't been properly secured in the first place.

"I am all right," Robin replied. "And you?"

Marian glanced back at Edward. "My father and I are fine, but Robin they … the Sheriff and Gisborne … they tortured …" The words caught in her throat, and Marian could do little more than move aside so that Robin had a clearer view of Allan.

"Allan." It was the only thing Robin managed as he stared at his friend, and Marian could see the pain and the guilt mingling on Robin's face. She knew he considered himself responsible for the welfare of his men, and he took that responsibility seriously. Marian did not doubt he would give his life for any of them if he had to.

"This is my fault," Marian said. "Robin, if I had just listened to you … if I had gone to Sherwood this never would have happened. I am so sorry."

"No," Robin said harshly, tearing his gaze away from Allan to look at Marian. "Marian, do not say that. This is _not_ your fault. I would never think that. This is the Sheriff and Gisborne. They did this, not you."

All protestations died on her lips. His eyes told her it was useless to argue because he would never blame her for this no matter how much she blamed herself. "He needs a physician," Marian said because she felt she needed to say something. "His wounds … they need to be cleaned and dressed, and even then …"

"Infection," Robin said grimly. Robin stood and paced the length of his cell and back. He looked over at the dungeon door. "We should not have long to wait, but I … I did not count on this. I did not think the Sheriff would've been so quick to torture Allan." He shook his head. "We will have to wake him. He cannot bear arms, but he must be awake. We cannot afford to carry him if we run into trouble."

"Robin, he is nearly dead!" Marian exclaimed.

"I have seen men with worse injuries do far more than walk out of a castle. It is amazing what you can do when you are fighting for your life. I do not like it anymore than you do, Marian. He will suffer, but I need him to walk out of here. Then we can get him back to Sherwood where Djaq can treat him."

"Even if we can wake him," Marian reasoned, "how will we get out of here? Robin, what is going on?"

Robin looked back at the dungeon door again. "Help should not be too far behind."

"But you were captured."

"It is a long story," Robin said. "And it is not something we can talk about now. Someone might hear. Just trust me."

Though she didn't have the slightest idea what was happening, Marian believed him; she trusted him. If anyone could figure a way out of here, Robin could. And if he had a plan, Marian could dare to hope that not everything was lost. They could make it out of Nottingham. They _had_ to make it out of Nottingham.

* * *

**A/N:** All right, so there wasn't quite a big old fluffy reunion for Robin and Marian, but it just didn't quite seem the place to get mushy … you know, with her dad being there and all, and not to mention poor Allan lying there practically dead. Doesn't really seem the time for romance, does it? Not to mention I suck at writing romance, and I'm a coward so I'm pushing any and all romance for the end, but anyway … 

Many thanks to … **Mira-and-Allan** … lol, I'm happy to hear that you've reconciled your differences with Allan :-D Thanks so much for the review. I'm so glad you're enjoying … **gatewatcher** … Thanks so much! I'm so happy to hear you still enjoy reading even though I'm an awful updater. Thanks again! … **Supernaturalfreakisabookworm** … Thanks for reading! I hope this update was soon enough for you :-D … **RixxiSpooks** … Thanks so much! I'm so happy to hear that you're willing to stick with me even though I've been a rather awful updater as of late. But thank you again, I appreciate the support! … **TaserdbyJack** … Thanks so much! That's a lot of reading to do in one sitting, so it certainly makes me happy I was able to hold your interest for that long :-D I also appreciate the compliment about the characterizations. It always makes me feel better to hear people feel I've written them true to form. I'm also glad you're enjoying the original (to the BBC version, anyway) characters … **DeanParker** … Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked! … **YouLuvMeCosImCrazy** … Thanks so much! I'm so glad to hear that you're enjoying it. And yes I agree – damn Gisborne! … **Lynda** … Thanks so much for the review! I'm glad that you've enjoyed the story. And I always appreciate hearing that characters have stayed true to form. That's always a huge concern for me. Thanks so much again! … **CaptCow** … As always, thank you, thank you, thank you! I always appreciate hearing from you. I'm so glad you enjoyed it, and to hear that the writer's block wasn't glaringly obvious. I haven't got the slightest idea what troubled me so much about that chapter, but well, there was something that did. I'm glad you liked the bit with Guy – that was my favorite part of the chapter! As always, thank you! … **Boys Don't Cry** … Thanks so much! I'm happy to hear that you're enjoying it! Awesome is always a great adjective to hear in relation to the story :-D … **scorpiagirl93** … Thanks so much! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying the story. I hope to update on a more regular basis because if it somehow isn't finished before May, goodness know when I'd be able to finish it! Thanks so much again! ... **JosephineInLove **... Thanks so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the bit with Gisborne, and that it worked well for his character. As for the part with David and Gisborne, I agree it felt a bit awkward for me. But writer's block will do that to you, I guess. However, I truly appreciate the advice. For whatever reason, I still feel weird writing the Sheriff even though, as I write this, I decided to forgo season one and started watching season 2. Even after two episodes, I still feel oddly disconnected from the Sheriff. Blah. Hopefully, I can remedy that. Thanks again!


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer**: Don't own it.

**A/N**: Wow, I'm on a roll here. Three updates in about a week. That must be some kind of record. Anyway, enjoy! Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 17**

Djaq drew in a grateful breath as the lid was removed from the barrel she was crammed inside. She stood, stretching her cramped muscles. Will stood beside her, ready to help her out. She held out her hand, but Will surprised her by simply grasping her about the waist and lifting her out of the barrel. His hands lingered longer than necessary. When she gave him a look, clearly telling him it was okay to let go, Will flushed slightly, and his hands quickly dropped back to his sides.

Meanwhile, Much clamored out of his own barrel, which was close enough to Will and Djaq that Djaq could hear him muttering something that sounded like, "Of course _I_ don't need any help." No sooner had the words left his mouth before he stumbled and the barrel crashed onto its side with Much still in it.

Perhaps it was completely inappropriate, but maybe the stress had just finally gotten to her, and Djaq had to bite back a smile as Much scrambled to his feet and straightened his clothing, acting for all the world as if he'd meant to fall over just then. Much looked over at Will and Djaq. "That is the _last_ time I travel like that."

"I agree," Will said as he rubbed his neck. "Not exactly comfortable."

"Yes, but about the only way we were going to get inside the castle," Djaq pointed out. She glanced back at Little John, who was helping Sarah out of another barrel. "Much, will you help John gather the weapons? Will, we need to speak with Julia."

As she and Will stepped down from the wagon, Julia reentered the cellar. She did not look pleased, but then Djaq expected nothing less. Of the contacts they had within Nottingham Castle, Julia was her least favorite. At first, she had protested telling Tuck to ask for Julia, but Robin pointed out Julia was most likely to help them today. The other contacts might fear for their lives, and Djaq couldn't blame them. Julia, on the other hand, was motivated by both greed and a particular soft spot where Allan was concerned. Djaq couldn't quite figure it, but Allan had managed to charm the woman.

Julia's eyes swept over the group of outlaws. The first logical question might've been to ask where Robin was. But Julia, as Djaq figured she would, asked, "Where is Allan?"

"He was captured by the Sheriff's men along with Lady Marian and Sir Edward," Will explained.

"_Allan_ was the outlaw the Sheriff was torturing?" Julia asked as her eyes widened with the first trace of real emotion Djaq ever thought she saw cross the young woman's face.

Of course, it wasn't the novelty of seeing Julia show a trace of human emotion that made Djaq's throat tighten. "Torture?"

"I was told the Sheriff was trying out his new torture device on one of Robin's men," Julia replied. "I – I don't know what it was, but I've heard it's a terrible machine. There have been rumors about it for weeks."

Djaq looked at Will as her heart thudded painfully in her chest. What if they were too late? Will's eyes met hers. "This is my fault," he whispered.

"No, it is not," Djaq said. She knew Will was about to protest, to insist that it was his fault. Djaq quickly added, "And this is not the time to argue." Djaq turned back to Julia. Though she was as horrified as Will to learn that Allan had suffered at the Sheriff's hands, she realized now was not the time to dwell on how she felt. They needed to act; they needed to save Allan, Marian, and her father while getting themselves out alive in the process.

"Julia," Djaq began, "we need you to get as much of this ale as you can to the soldiers. Can you do that?"

"I'll try," Julia said. "None of the soldiers have been given a rest. Maids will be leaving to offer them refreshment soon. I'll have them use this ale. Is there anything else?"

"We need maid's garb. Something that will fit her." As Djaq said this she pointed toward Sarah, who was still atop the wagon.

Julia nodded in understanding while Will asked, "Do you think she will be able to pass through the castle unnoticed?"

"Of course," Julia replied with a note of disbelief in her voice. "You don't actually think anyone pays attention to us? We're servants. We're nobodies. I've worked here for over two years, and neither the Sheriff nor Gisborne could pick me out of a crowd. Trust me."

With that, Julia swept out of the cellar in search of maid's garb for Sarah to wear. While they waited, Little John and Much distributed weapons to Djaq and Will, who concealed the weapons beneath their cloaks. Sarah kept her distance from the four of them, her expression grim.

With her weapons secure, Djaq joined Sarah. "I know you are scared."

"Really?" Sarah replied. "Scared doesn't begin to describe it."

"You did not have to come," Djaq pointed out. She wasn't surprised by the contempt in Sarah's voice, but it bothered her nonetheless. There was nothing buying Sarah's loyalty except the promise of gold she'd only be able to use if she made it out of the castle alive. "You can still leave," Djaq continued. "We will think of another way without you." She didn't want to say that because, truth be told, their plan rested heavily on Sarah. But Djaq needed Sarah to realize there was nothing tying her to this. She could still walk away. Right now, Djaq needed to know if Sarah was still with them because if she had any doubt, it would be better to let her walk away.

Sarah sighed, finally meeting Djaq's eyes. "I know."

She didn't have to say anything else for Djaq to understand what she meant. Whether or not she was frightened, Sarah was in this with them. She had made that choice; no one had made it for her.

"Be careful," Djaq said.

"You too," Sarah replied.

Djaq rejoined Will, John, and Much while Sarah remained where she was. She drew in a deep breath before saying the words no one was quite ready to hear, "Will and I should go. We need to be at our posts, and we cannot all leave the kitchens at the same time. Much, John, stay with Sarah until Julia returns. After that … you know your positions."

Much and Little John nodded. And there was silence. Something about this moment filled Djaq with a sense of dread, and she knew the others felt the same. Over the past months, they had all been through a lot. They had all survived things most people couldn't imagine. Yet somehow this time felt different. Somehow, Djaq knew they might not all be returning to Sherwood that evening, and she suspected she wasn't the only one who felt that way. She saw it in the way the group silently regarded each other – as if really seeing each other for the first time and realizing it might be the last.

As Will and Djaq prepared to depart, Much surprised Djaq by saying, "You know, we will all talk about this one day. And we will wonder … well, we will wonder how we managed it."

Djaq smiled. "Yes, we will."

"Aye," Little John said. "I can agree with that."

"And hopefully," Will added, "we will not be talking about it over a pot of your stew, Much."

John chuckled, and Djaq's smile widened. Much tried to appear indignant, but he couldn't quite manage it. He simply replied, "Well then, you can just go hungry."

Smiles faded and silence descended over them once more. There seemed little else to say except "good luck" and "be careful", so Will and Djaq departed. As the made their way out of the cellar, Djaq knew why Will had said that to Much. He didn't characteristically tease Much about his cooking, but Allan did. And it was something Allan would've said at a time like this, still trying to crack jokes when things appeared as bleak as they did now.

Djaq knew Will still blamed himself for all of this even though there was no logical way he could've prevented this. She could only hope that by some miracle everyone made it out of Nottingham castle today, or Will would never forgive himself for it.

As they slipped outside onto the streets of Nottingham, they prepared to go their separate ways. Their posts were scattered at various points near the gates. It would attract too much attention for them all to stand together in a group. Djaq grasped Will's hand before they parted. Though she knew it was futile, she said, "This is _not_ your fault. You have to believe that."

Will gave her hand a brief squeeze. "No time for arguing," he murmured, repeating her earlier words from the cellar. "Djaq … be careful. Please."

Djaq nodded. "I will," she replied. "And you too."

Will released her hand, and they separated. Djaq walked slowly, keeping to the shadows. She kept alert for any soldiers and widely skirted any she came across. She tugged her hood further down over her face. She felt like they were a hundred eyes watching her when, in reality, she knew no one had offered her a passing glance.

She wished that there was more she could do than wait. But for now, it was up to Sarah and Robin to get the others out.

* * *

David kept his eyes on the Sheriff after Gisborne left with Robin. Though, at the moment, the Sheriff appeared nearly oblivious to his and Wat's presence, David didn't trust the Sheriff's feigned nonchalance for a second. The Sheriff was not a man anyone could afford to trust. 

As the Sheriff hummed tunelessly to himself, he prodded at one of his birdcages on display. The small bird fluttered about for a moment before perching on another pole, chirping all the while. The Sheriff continued watching the bird, cocking his head to one side. David could've sworn the Sheriff was _listening_ to the bird as if it were telling the most fascinating story in the world. Naturally, David figured anyone stupid enough to hire Gisborne had to be a little crazy, but the Sheriff managed to pull off unstable without even batting an eye.

"Hmm, yes," the Sheriff murmured as he straightened. "That is a good point. I was just thinking that myself." Turning his attention to David and Wat, the Sheriff clasped his hands behind his back. "Tell me, how exactly did you manage to capture Hood _and_ all of his men?"

David met the Sheriff's cold, assessing eyes. "A mercenary never reveals his secrets."

The Sheriff arched an eyebrow. "Hmm, funny, I always thought it was magicians who never revealed their secrets."

David shrugged, keeping his calm. "Mercenaries, magicians, it's all the same, really. No one likes to give away the tricks of their trade. That might make someone better than you, and, in my profession, I can't afford to have people better than me."

"Well, come now, I'm sure it couldn't hurt to give me some of the smaller details," the Sheriff pressed. "I find it rather hard to believe you don't want to boast your victory. After all, you have succeeded where so many others have failed. Unless, of course, there's something you're hiding … something you don't want me to know?"

David wasn't a fool. He knew the Sheriff was trying to lead him into a trap … or perhaps it wasn't so much David the Sheriff was trying to intimidate or press into slipping up and revealing something. He realized the Sheriff was no longer looking at him but at Wat.

"Perhaps your little friend here could tell me," the Sheriff suggested. "I mean, he hasn't even said so much as hello since you got here. Rather rude, don't you think? So, tell me …" the Sheriff paused, waving his hand in Wat's direction, indicating he should speak his name.

"W-Wat, m-my lord."

"Wat." The Sheriff said his name as though he were a frog who'd just wrapped his tongue around a fat, juicy fly. "Right, well tell me, Wat, how did you and your – cousin, was it? – manage to bring the infamous Robin Hood to justice?"

Wat shifted uncomfortably under the Sheriff's scrutinizing stare. He glanced between David and the Sheriff, clearly unsure of what he should say.

"There really isn't all that much to tell," David said, interceding on Wat's behalf before the poor man said something that would be the death of all of them. "We spent some time in the villages surrounding Sherwood, blending in and learning what we could about Hood and his gang. We happened to learn that Hood was fond of the lady of Knighton Hall and that he often made solitary trips there. So, we staked out at Knighton Hall. Hood happened to be there the other night, and we followed him back to his camp. We kept our distance and found the opportune time to strike when he split his men to take rotating watches on Knighton Hall. At least then, it was always two against two instead of two against six."

The Sheriff's gaze moved between David and Wat, and David couldn't imagine what the Sheriff was thinking. He knew the Sheriff didn't really care how they'd managed to capture Hood. He only wanted to see if either David or Wat would slip and say something the Sheriff wasn't supposed to know. Whether or not the Sheriff was wholly satisfied with David's answer, David didn't know. But at least he wasn't suspicious enough to throw them in the dungeons.

"Half the bounty should be here soon," the Sheriff informed them as he finally moved back behind his desk, taking a seat. Pulling out quill, parchment, and ink, he set to work writing a letter. For a moment, the only sound that broke the silence was the scratching of the quill. Then, the Sheriff glanced up at them once more. "I do expect prompt delivery on the rest of my outlaws. After all, there's no point in hanging just one when you can hang all of them, now is there?"

Though he wasn't certain the Sheriff expected a response, David was spared the necessity of trying to come up with something suitable to say when two soldiers returned, carrying between them a small wooden chest. They set it on the desk before the Sheriff and stepped away. Standing, the Sheriff turned the chest so that it faced David and Wat before he opened it, showing the contents. "Satisfied?" he questioned. He didn't wait for either one to answer before he snapped the lid shut and said, "Good. I am absolutely thrilled to hear it. Now, I expect the rest of Hood's friends delivered within the hour, or your dear cousin will not be satisfied at all."

Before either David or Wat could react, one of the soldiers, on cue from the Sheriff, had the tip of his sword pressed firmly against Wat's chest. David reached for his own blade, but even as he did, he knew it was useless. Before he'd even have the chance to draw his weapon, Wat would be dead.

The Sheriff smiled. "I hope you didn't think I wouldn't set up some insurances of my own. Now, I suggest you hurry. Time is wasting after all, and your cousin doesn't have a great deal of time to waste."

David looked at Wat, hating that there was nothing he could do at the moment that wouldn't result in Wat's swift death. It was his instinct to fight, but there was a time for jumping right into a fight and a time for waiting for a better opportunity.

"I _will_ be back," David told him, trying, in those few words, to emphasize to Wat that he wouldn't leave him behind. Wat said nothing, but offered David a brief nod, telling him that he understood.

With that, David hefted the chest of gold from the Sheriff's desk and departed the room. One of the soldiers escorted him, leaving Wat alone with the other soldier and the Sheriff.

* * *

Many thanks to … **Mira-and-Allan** … lol, your reviews always make me smile :-D Sure, you are more than welcome to kill either the Sheriff or Gisborne, though I think I'd prefer to see Gisborne dead over the Sheriff. The Sheriff is at least amusing. And though Allan may be badly hurt, he's a fighter … and that's all I'll say about that! Thanks so much again for the review! … **Keiri Bradon** … Thanks so much for the review! Longest review ever, huh? Well, it makes me happy to know my writing has inspired your longest review :-D I always used to love English class, but book reports are never fun. Well, again, I greatly appreciate the review. I'm so glad to know you're enjoying! Hopefully this update comes when there is no English project due :-D … **Kane** … Thanks so much! I'm so glad to hear that you're enjoying the story! … **Mizco** … Thanks so much! It's always wonderful to hear when people are enjoying! Thanks again! … **Boys Don't Cry** … Thanks so much for the review! It is going to be tough going with Allan being injured, but Allan's a fighter … **scorpiagirl93** … Thanks so much! It always does me good to hear that the story is holding your attention. If you want to keep reading, then that means I'm doing my job :-D Thanks so much again! … **Jacqueline Roget **… Thanks so much for the review! … **gatewatcher** … Thanks so much for the review! Well, Allan's definitely tough, and he's a fighter, but obviously, I can't give anything away :-D … **CaptCow** … Thanks so much! I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the bit with Allan. I had thought about writing some type of reunion between Allan and Ellen … I'd like to introduce her character at any rate, but not in this particular story. Of course whether or not it would be a happy reunion between those two … well, I highly doubt it would be an easy reunion, at any rate. I'm also happy to hear you liked Gisborne's proposal. That man is just so darn conflicted. He loves her and he hates her. Er, well, I'm not sure I should say love. It's probably more of an unhealthy obsession. Again, thanks so much! I'm so glad to hear that you're enjoying! … **Kates Master** … Thanks so much for the review! I truly appreciate it! I've only just started watching the second season on YouTube (it airs on BBC America in March, but I don't even think I get that station anyway), but I know most of the major events, including the ending, and I honestly couldn't agree with you more. I wouldn't even know how to write a story taking place after the events of the second season. I'm so glad you like how Allan's been portrayed – always thrilled to hear I've kept him in character! And Marian definitely needs to beat herself up over this, so I'm glad you like the guilt trip. You know, initially, when I wrote that Sarah was a compulsive liar, I planned to have her and Allan at least know each other, but that just seemed too cheesy for me, so I dropped the idea. As for Ellen, I have thoughts of her character popping up, but not in this story. Again, thanks so much! 


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters.

**A/N: **Enjoy, and thank you for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 18**

Nervously, Sarah tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while Julia surveyed her. Julia appeared satisfied as she said, "No one will know the difference between you and any of the other kitchen maids. But you must stop fidgeting." With an annoyed huff, Julia grabbed Sarah's hand and pulled it away from her ear where Sarah continued tucking back the same strand of hair.

Yanking her hand away from Julia, Sarah glared at her. "I just hate standing still, that's all."

"Well, I'd say its nerves," Julia replied matter-of-factly. "Now remember, don't make prolonged eye contact, especially if you come across the Sheriff or Gisborne."

"I've never even seen either one of them before," Sarah pointed out. "How am I supposed to know its one of them?"

"Well, you won't have to worry too much about that if you just listen to me and keep your eyes down. You're a maid, you're on the lowest rung of the social ladder, and the men of this castle expect you to be submissive. Besides that, you'll know the Sheriff or Gisborne if you come across one of them, especially Gisborne. He's head to toe in black leather, every day, all the time. Trust me." She surveyed Sarah again before moving forward to brush what Sarah thought was imaginary dust off of Sarah's shoulders. "So, are you ready?"

"Yes, for God's sake!" Sarah exclaimed, tired of Julia's fussing. Though Sarah knew it couldn't have been that long, it still felt like Djaq, Will, Much, and John had left her in this cellar hours ago.

Julia merely raised an eyebrow at Sarah's outburst. "All right then," she replied, thrusting a pitcher of Djaq's more potent sleeping draught/ale into Sarah's arms. "The dungeon guards have not been relieved all day. None of the soldiers in the castle have. They will be grateful for the drink."

Sarah nodded, having heard all of this already. She really was just tired of standing here. The adrenaline was building inside of her, and she felt as if she might explode if she didn't move soon. That was the reason why her nerves were eating away at her. She needed to get her phase of the plan underway so she didn't have so much time to think about all the things that could possibly go wrong. During her time in the barrel and with Julia, the list of what can go wrong had grown considerably. All of them ended in a slow and painful death.

Shaking her head and trying to ignore the nagging little voice inside her head that said she should've listened to Djaq and got out while she could, Sarah mumbled her thanks to Julia before brushing past her and up the cellar steps into the kitchens.

Robin had discussed a detailed layout of Nottingham Castle, advising Sarah of the quickest possible route from the kitchens to the dungeons. At the time, it amazed Sarah how well Robin knew the inside of the castle. Obviously, the security at Nottingham had to be a little inept for an outlaw to know his way so thoroughly through the corridors of enemy territory. It had bolstered Sarah's confidence for about five minutes. Now, she didn't care how incompetent the entire castle was. Sheer numbers outweighed ineptitude in Sarah's opinion, and she realized they had to be outnumbered at least ten to one. She might've learned some sword technique and hand-to-hand combat from her older brothers, but she wasn't a girl who was going to miraculously take down ten armed soldiers, and she'd never pretend she could. Hell, she couldn't even win one on one, as her encounter earlier with Will had proven. He'd had her cornered, and she'd had to resort to a blow bellow the belt in order to take him down. She wasn't going to be able to fight every soldier she came across by kicking him in the groin.

Sarah groaned inwardly. _Happy thoughts_, she told herself. Or, better yet, she reminded herself she should be paying better attention to where she was going. Despite the excellent directions Robin had given her, Sarah knew she was lost. All these stupid corridors looked the same.

Regardless of how lost she was Sarah at least knew one thing: she'd gone too far into the castle. She must have missed a turn near the kitchens. That was it. It had to be. She was supposed to make the second right after exiting the kitchens. She hadn't done that … right?

Sarah closed her eyes and sighed. This was _not_ the time to get lost. It wasn't like she could find the nearest soldier and ask for directions. That might end up looking just a _little_ bit suspicious. So with no other recourse, Sarah retraced her steps, which wasn't necessarily a grand idea considering she couldn't find her way back to the kitchens either.

Thankfully, for her sake, there didn't seem to be too much traffic within the castle today – guards or otherwise. Most of the corridors were empty. Anyone that Sarah did come across barely offered her a passing glance. That, of course, suited Sarah just fine.

She didn't know how long she wandered about the halls of Nottingham Castle. She knew it couldn't have been nearly as long as it felt … at least she hoped it wasn't. There were people counting on her. She couldn't afford to mess this up. Finally, however, after about twenty-five detours, she managed to make her way toward the prison. Well, at least she assumed she was heading in the right direction. It looked more likely than all the other directions she'd taken considering that she was heading downstairs where the corridors felt colder and mustier and somehow … gloomier, as if all hope had been siphoned from the air.

It felt like the Tower of London, and Sarah had to force her legs to keep moving as those horrible memories raced through her mind.

As she descended, the darkness seemed to grow more oppressive, broken only by the pale light from flickering torches upon the stone walls. Sarah's only thought was of getting out of here – the sooner, the better. After her jaunt in the Tower, Nottingham shouldn't have frightened her like this, but it did.

Sarah moved along the stone steps quietly as if worried to disturb the stillness in the air. She didn't know how far away from the dungeons she was when she heard the echo of footsteps.

Sarah froze, realizing those footsteps were headed toward her. Though Julia informed her no one would find it unusual that she was offering the guards refreshment after such a long day since it was a typical job of the maids, Sarah couldn't help the panic that tightened her chest as she searched desperately about for somewhere to conceal herself. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to go in this corridor but up or down.

Though frantic, Sarah drew in a deep breath, trying to stay and appear calm. It wouldn't help matters if she looked like a cornered rabbit. Of course, at the moment, that's very much what she felt like.

_Move_, Sarah, she told herself. Just keep going. _You're a kitchen maid; you're allowed to be here._ Bracing herself, Sarah took the steps slowly. She kept her head lowered, remembering Julia's warning not to look anyone in the eye. If those footsteps belonged to either the Sheriff or Gisborne, it wouldn't do for her to appear anything less than respectful and subservient.

As she rounded the corner, the footsteps stopped suddenly, and Sarah got a good, long look at nothing but a man's body cloaked in black leather blocking her path. Unable to help herself, she chanced a quick glance at Leather's face before lowering her head. Recalling Julia's words, she knew Leather had to be Gisborne, and seeing his face hadn't helped matters. He didn't exactly look like a reasonable or forgiving man.

"What are you doing down here?"

Her knees felt weak, and her heart hammered in her chest. She was surprised he couldn't hear it. Despite her nerves, Sarah managed a wobbly curtsy … or something that resembled a curtsy at any rate. "My lord," Sarah murmured, praying that was the correct way to address him. "I was told to bring refreshment for the soldiers guarding the dungeons."

Though her head was bowed, Sarah could feel Gisborne's hard gaze assessing her. The silence stretched on for what had to be one of the most agonizing two minutes of Sarah's life. She was almost certain he was going to call her on her lie. But finally, he only said, "Be quick about it," before brushing past her and continuing his trek upstairs.

Only once his footsteps faded did Sarah let out the breath she was holding in a grateful _whoosh_. Apparently, Gisborne hadn't found her either suspicious or threatening, which was fine by Sarah.

Thankful to have escaped that near brush with disaster, Sarah hurried along until she reached what could only be the dungeon door as it was guarded by two soldiers. Neither one of them seemed the least put off by her presence as each appreciatively accepted the drink she offered while grumbling about being here all day without break. Sarah just stood back as the Sheriff's disgruntled employees complained and enjoyed their ale.

Djaq had informed Sarah that the draught she possessed was potent, and the effects shouldn't take long. Sarah was glad to see the truth of that assessment as the soldiers' words began to slur. One of them attempted to demand what she'd poisoned them with before they both slumped over, landing in an ungainly heap before the dungeon door.

Quickly, Sarah went over to the prone soldiers and searched each of them until she found the keys. Using them to enter the prison, Sarah stepped inside, taking the keys with her as she closed the door quietly behind her.

* * *

Robin paced the length of his cell and back. Marian had returned to tending Allan, washing down his wounds. Allan didn't even twitch, and the utter lack of movement was beginning to gnaw away at Robin. Not only was Robin beginning to fear that even Djaq might not be able to treat Allan, but Robin knew there was no way they could afford to carry Allan out of the castle. It was bad enough that he didn't have an extra fighter in Allan; he'd been counting on that. But if they couldn't manage to rouse Allan, someone was going to have to carry him. Robin couldn't expect either Marian or Sarah to support the dead weight of a full grown man, and Edward had sustained an injury to his shoulder. That left Robin to carry Allan out of here, which wasn't a grand idea considering they'd almost definitely encounter resistance on their way out of the castle before they could rejoin the others. 

Of course, Robin hadn't been fool enough to believe his plan would work without a single hitch, but he hadn't counted on something like this. And as he stared at his fallen friend, his hatred for both the Sheriff and Gisborne intensified a hundredfold. He would find a way to repay both of them for this, but today was not about that. Today was about getting everyone out of Nottingham alive, not deliberately hunting down either the Sheriff or Gisborne.

As he returned to his pacing, Robin was glad to hear the dungeon door open. A moment later, Sarah appeared. She stopped before Robin's cell, holding out the key ring. "These were the only keys I found on the soldiers."

Before Sarah could begin testing each key, Marian said, "The jailer has the keys to the cells. I watched him pocket them before he left."

"I didn't see him," Sarah said. "He must still be around."

"All right then," Robin said, knowing the jailer was the least of their concerns. "I guess we'll go with Plan B." He nodded toward Sarah who bent down and reached beneath her skirts to retrieve the hairpins tied around her calf. They were the hairpins Robin had taken from Marian's room at Knighton.

"Now this, I can handle," Sarah said as she began picking the lock on Robin's cell.

"You decided to bring my hairpins?" Marian asked. "Worried about fashion, Robin?"

Marian nearly sounded amused, and Robin grinned as the lock on his cell clicked and the barred door swung open. "Well, as you can see, they work very well when keys are not available."

When Sarah began to work on the lock of the other cell, Robin said, "Marian, Edward, this is Sarah." At the introduction, Sarah bobbed an awkward curtsy.

"And how did you manage to talk this poor girl into helping you?" Marian asked. "The Sheriff must have every soldier in the shire stationed at the castle today."

"This poor girl, as you put it, broke Will's nose." At Robin's words, Sarah flushed deep red. "But we can talk about that later," Robin added.

Finally, Sarah managed to pick the lock, and she opened the barred door, stepping aside as she did so.

Without hesitation, Robin moved forward and pulled Marian into his arms. Out of respect for her father, Robin refrained from kissing her and did nothing more than hold her for a moment just to feel the warmth of her body against his – to know that she was truly unhurt. Up until the moment he'd seen her in this dungeon, he feared she'd been taken away from him again – that they would never get their second chance. Of course, they were a long was from safety right now, but simply holding Marian relieved some of the burden upon Robin's shoulders.

Robin pressed a kiss into her hair before pulling away. That was when he notices the darkened spot of blood staining her dress. "Marian?" he said, his fingertips grazing the fabric. "Your wound … did it …?" He almost didn't want to know the answer. He didn't want to hear that the injury had reopened, that even now she was bleeding and might not last through the night.

"Robin, I'm fine," Marian replied softly. "The stitches pulled a bit, and there was some bleeding, but I'm fine. Honestly."

"Robin."

Edward's murmur caught Robin's attention, and he and Marian both turned to find Edward looking down at Allan. Allan's lips were moving, but there was no sound. Still, it didn't matter. At least he was moving.

Robin knelt beside Allan. "Allan? It's Robin, Allan. I need you to wake up. I need you to walk out of here." He said the words louder than he would've liked, his voice echoing off the walls, but he wasn't going to get through to Allan by whispering.

Allan's eyes fluttered open for a moment. He muttered something incoherent before drifting off again.

"Robin, he is not going to wake up," Marian said.

"You could dump the water on him," Sarah suggested, waving a hand toward the basin of water beside Allan.

"That wouldn't be …" Marian said at the same time Robin said, "Sorry, Allan, I really am," and dumped the basin of water over his friend.

Allan spluttered and coughed, finally opening his eyes fully. He began breathing heavily, as if he were trying to cope with the pain that he could once again feel. "Bloody hell," he cursed. He used a few more colorful, choice words that weren't fit for mixed company, but, considering the circumstances, understandable.

"Allan?" Robin asked again, trying to get the man's attention. He needed Allan to stay with them.

Allan squinted at Robin, as if he weren't seeing things correctly. "Robin?"

"Yes, it's me, Allan."

Allan paused, studying Robin silently for a moment. Then he said, "Not bein' funny, but it's about bloody time."

Robin wished he could smile at that, but the truth was those words cut him deep. Even seeing how bad Allan looked, Robin couldn't imagine what he'd had to endure in the Sheriff's torture chamber. The lives and welfare of his friends meant more to him than his own life. To know that he'd been too late to save Allan this suffering ate away at Robin's conscience.

Pushing aside the guilt, Robin said, "I know it's a lot to ask, but can you walk?"

Robin watched Allan grit his teeth, and, using his good arm, Allan pushed himself up to a sitting position. He could see the effort it took Allan not to yell out with the pain of it. After giving Allan a few minutes to adjust to at least sitting up, Robin offered Allan his hand. Robin saw Allan hesitate, and he knew Allan must've considered telling Robin there was no way he could do it. But Allan was nothing if not determined. He grasped Robin's hand, and Robin carefully hauled his friend to his feet.

All the blood drained from Allan's face. There was sweat beading on his forehead from the effort. He swayed on his feet for a moment before managing to find his balance. "Nothin' to it," he muttered.

Robin would have offered to set Allan's shoulder. He'd seen it done enough times in the Holy Land, but he feared the pain might cause Allan to pass out again.

Robin realized it seemed impossible for Allan to be doing even this considering his injuries. But as Robin had told Marian earlier, it was amazing what a person could force themselves to do under the right circumstances. He'd seen it in the Holy Land. The problem was that adrenaline – that will to fight – only lasted so long. It could only get a man so far, and Robin wasn't about to confess he'd seen a lot of those men in the Holy Land who'd pushed themselves almost beyond logical comprehension die. Allan wasn't going to be one of those men. Robin was going to get him back to Sherwood, and Djaq was going to treat him.

As they gave Allan a moment to regroup and prepare for getting out of here, Robin told the others he was going to drag the soldiers, out cold from Djaq's sleeping draught, into the dungeon. Better they were in here than out in the corridor. Besides, they were going to need the weapons. Marian's hairpins might be good in a pinch, but they couldn't use them to battle their way out of Nottingham.

Marian followed Robin, stopping him before he opened the dungeon door. "He is not going to be able to walk out of here," Marian insisted. "We cannot expect him to."

"I do not like this anymore than you," Robin replied. The problem was Robin realized the truth of Marian's words even if he didn't want to admit it. There was no way Allan was walking out of here in his condition. No doubt Allan would try to fight through the agony. He would push himself, but in the end … Robin shook his head. "We do not have a choice."

As Robin turned back toward the door, Marian said, "Robin, wait. I have an idea."

Facing Marian once more, Robin folded his arms across his chest. "All right, I'm listening," he said.

And Robin listened to Marian's idea. In the end, he knew it was crazy, but no more so than his own plan to enter Nottingham Castle. Besides, sometimes "crazy" ended up being the best way to go about things. In their current circumstances, with the odds piled against them, crazy was going to be their only way out.

* * *

Many thanks to … **Kates Master** … Thanks so much! I'm glad you're enjoying, and that you liked that line. I wanted to keep it simple but still convey the emotions everyone was kind of going through at the moment. Again, thank you! … **DeanParker** … Thanks so much! Glad you're enjoying … **Mizco** … Thanks so much! Each character on the show is great in their own way – Djaq because she is such a strong and capable female. I'm glad to hear I'm pulling off that aspect of her character. Again, thank you! … **BigBadWolfyBoy** … Thanks so much! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying! … **Boys Don't Cry** … Yes, the Sheriff is very tricksy, just like a hobbit :-D Thanks so much! I'm so happy to hear that you're enjoying … **TaserdbyJack** … Thanks so much for the double review! I'm so happy to hear that you found moments to laugh about. Sometimes this feels like a very dark and kind of hopeless feeling type story at moments, so I do try really hard to create some lighter moments. And I knew I couldn't just let David and Wat walk out with the gold. Somehow, I just didn't think that would suit the Sheriff's character. Again, thank you! I truly appreciate it … **Keiri Bradon** … Yes, I think I'd say this review is longer than the last one :-D Really? It doesn't start until April? I wonder why I thought March … who knows. Maybe it was March last year? Oh well. Silly me :-D To tell you the truth, I probably would've enjoyed a class like English Comp more than foreign language - only because my school did not have a very good foreign language program. After five years of French, I honestly couldn't speak it to save my life. Anyway, I do hope there was enough Robin for you in this chapter. Thanks so much again for the review, I truly appreciate it! … **Jacqueline Roget** … Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! It's much appreciated! … **RixxiSpooks** … Thanks so much, I truly appreciate it! It truly is nice to hear you've grown fond of some of my original characters. It definitely would've been easier to write if the plan had gone smoothly, but when do things ever go as planned? You're right – it never could've gone smoothly. As for everyone's continued well being … well, the only thing I can say is that I'm really trying to get this story finished, I really, truly am. I hate leaving something unfinished, so hopefully the end is drawing closer and all will be answered :-D … **CaptCow** … As always, thank you! I truly appreciate it! I'm so happy to hear you enjoyed Much in this chapter. That's so true though about him. He knows that there is a time for complaining and a time for being supportive, and he's usually intuitive enough to figure out when its time to be supportive :-D Again, I'm so happy to hear that you're enjoying! Thanks again! 


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **Enjoy, and as always, thank you for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 19**

David deposited the chest in the wagon he and Wat had used in order to bring Robin to the castle. He climbed up into the front and grabbed the reigns.

"One hour."

David glared at the soldier who had escorted him from the castle. "I think I already got that, thanks," David snapped. "Any other helpful advice?"

"The guards at the gate will be told about you. When you return, come back here. I will be waiting to escort you to the Sheriff's quarters."

Frustrated and angered by the turn of events, David flicked the reigns, and the wagon lurched into motion. According to plan, David navigated the wagon through Nottingham until he reached Tuck. He could see the open look of relief of Tuck's face when the older man looked over at him. But the relief was short-lived as Tuck asked, "Where's Wat?"

"We ran into a slight problem," David replied. Quickly, he filled Tuck in on what happened within the Sheriff's quarters.

"What should we do?" Tuck asked. "We can't leave Wat to the Sheriff's mercy."

"Of course we can't," David said. "I never planned to. Look, I've got an idea."

"You should speak with Djaq or Will," Tuck advised. "Neither one is far from here."

"No," David replied. "They need to stay where they are. I can handle this. I need you to continue with the plan. Take the gold back to camp." Tuck frowned at this, and David knew the older man was not happy to be the one designated to leave. Tuck wanted to be there to help – to fight, if necessary. But this was what they had agreed on at camp. "It will be all right," David added. "Just … trust me."

At that, Tuck raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I know that can't be easy," David said. "I've done nothing to warrant it. But I will not leave Wat behind. There's no time to get together an effort to rescue Wat plus everyone else. That's why I'll handle it. Now hurry before this starts to look suspicious."

David jumped down from the wagon, and Tuck reluctantly traded his wagon for the one with the bounty. "Good luck," Tuck murmured before urging the horses forward.

Turning around, David retraced his steps back to where the soldier waited for his return. "I realized something," David said before the soldier could even question him. "There are four men and only one of me. Seeing as how the Sheriff deprived me of Wat, I'd like to talk to him about sending some soldiers out with me."

"You said they were tied up," the soldier pointed out. "What? You can't handle them?"

"Well, they are quite clever," David replied. "After all, they've embarrassed your Sheriff more than a few times. I'd rather not take any chances, and I'm sure the Sheriff will see it my way. He wants these outlaws delivered to him as much as I want them off my hands."

The soldier shook his head. "You're wasting time. You've got one hour."

"Humor me," David said. "What's it to you, anyway? It's not your life that's going to end in an hour if I don't return."

The soldier considered this for a moment before he finally sighed and motioned for David to follow him. "I still say you're bloody wasting time."

As they stepped over the threshold into the empty corridor, David replied, "No, I assure you, you've been very helpful." Without hesitation, David reached forward, grasping the back of the soldier's helmet. Then, he slammed the man's head directly off one of the stone walls. The soldier, who hadn't the time to react, crumpled in a heap, out cold. Quickly, David seized the man beneath the arms and dragged his limp body into the nearest empty room. At least one thing could be said for the increased security at Nottingham: apparently the Sheriff didn't care so much about security _inside_ the castle. He was more concerned with outside the castle.

As David stripped the soldier of his armor to use as a disguise for himself, he considered the fact that he hadn't killed the man but only knocked him out. Killing was his instinct as much as breathing or eating. It was a part of him now. Without it, he never would have survived after Gisborne's treachery had left him unable to compete in the tourneys. Still, he knew that Robin Hood didn't kill if it could be avoided, and David was on a mission for Robin Hood. It seemed strange, but because of that he had no desire to kill if he could help it.

David sighed as he slid the helmet in place. He'd worry about these newfound morals and what they meant for his career later. Right now, he needed to worry about Wat.

Inching open the door, David peered around to make certain the hallway was clear. As he expected, there was no one in sight. Stepping out, he closed the door behind him.

Thankfully, David had an excellent memory for detail, and he knew he could easily find his way from here back to the Sheriff's quarters.

Instinctively, David moved as quietly as possibly through the hallways of Nottingham Castle. Despite his disguise, he couldn't ignore years of training himself to move like a shadow. His life often depended on moving noiselessly.

Nearly convinced that the castle must be almost emptied of all occupants, it caught David off guard to round a corner and find a solemn group of figures moving toward him. There were three of them, carrying a litter of some sort between them. Two were clearly soldiers while the third was dressed in black robes with a hood pulled up to conceal the individual's identity. That particular person with the hood struck David as odd. Though he wasn't sure why, that person appeared out of place in this little procession.

But David didn't have time to wonder about the black cloaked figure because his attention was quickly diverted by a fourth person he hadn't initially seen. Lagging behind the group, David recognized Sarah. Her body visibly stiffened at the sight of David standing in their path. Obviously, she thought him a soldier, which at least meant his disguise was doing its job.

While David tried to decide whether or not Sarah needed help, the soldier leading the procession finally focused his attention on David. "Out of the way!" he ordered. "We have to get this one out before he starts to stink." He jerked his head in the direction of the litter, which contained the unmistakable outline of a body covered beneath a blanket.

Though the "soldier" concealed his voice admirably, David realized that it was Robin. Checking quickly to make certain they were still alone in the corridor, David lifted his helmet far enough so that Robin could see his face. "There's been a change in plans," David explained unceremoniously. "The Sheriff has Wat. Though I see things have changed on your end as well." David nodded toward the litter. "Clever. I'd really think you _were_ soldiers carrying out a dead man."

"What do you mean the Sheriff has Wat?" Robin asked, keeping his voice low.

Briefly, David filled Robin in on what happened in the Sheriff's quarters. "So, he's keeping Wat until I return with the other outlaws. I've got one hour," David concluded.

Robin held silent for a moment. Then, he said, "We will figure something out."

"No offense," David began, "but you have more than enough to worry about at the moment. You stick to your plan. I've got something figured out."

"Disguise yourself as a soldier and ambush the Sheriff in his own quarters?" Robin surmised. His tone of voice implied he wasn't thrilled about the idea.

"Something like that," David replied. "But I plan to be a bit more subtle than you're making it sound. You forget what I do for a living. I've been in situations like this, trust me. I've got it handled."

"If we could just –"

"There is no time," David interrupted. "Look, we all knew this wasn't going to go according to plan. We have to improvise. Let me deal with it." He realized that Robin was used to leading. He felt it was his responsibility to make certain everyone got out alive even though David knew that he, Sarah, Wat, and Tuck didn't necessarily deserve that consideration from Robin considering they'd had Robin and his friends bound for London and Prince John only a few hours earlier.

David knew that Robin wasn't happy to concede this argument, but they didn't have the time to stand here quarrelling. They'd already wasted too much time as it was.

* * *

From beneath the hood of the oversized garment previously worn by the Nottingham jailer, Marian silently watched the exchange between Robin and a man she did not recognize. They'd also mentioned someone named Wat. Marian had to wonder briefly how all these people came to the castle to help Robin today. She imagined there was an interesting story behind it, and she found it strange how desperately she wanted to hear Robin tell her that story. If he was telling it, then it would mean they were all safe away from the Sheriff's reach in Sherwood.

As the two men conversed in low voices, Marian shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. She did not like merely standing here. They had been lucky thus far. She didn't want to bet on how long their luck would hold out. Besides, she, Robin, and her father carried a litter – a crude wooden stretcher from the dungeons – with Allan's body laid out between them. Though she shared the burden with Robin and her father, Marian was taking the bulk of the weight on her father's behalf on the backside of the stretcher, where Allan's head was. Between his shoulder, his frail health, and the added weight of the soldier's armor he wore as a disguise, Edward's strength was waning. Her stints as the Nightwatchman certainly made her far more capable than most women of her station, but Allan was a full grown man, and Marian's shoulders and arms were beginning to ache. The trek up the stairs from the dungeon had been tedious and trying especially worrying that with every step that they might come across Guy or the Sheriff. Soldiers or maids might merely dismiss them and go on their way; Guy and the Sheriff would not.

Finally, David departed, continuing in the opposite direction from them. After he left, Robin continued leading them down the corridor without a word. Marian could tell he was not happy with the way the conversation had gone. He may not have spoken, but she knew him well enough; his silence spoke volumes to her.

They moved along slowly, allowing for Edward's increasingly labored movements. He was breathing heavier from the exertion, and Marian worried for her father. "It will not be much longer," Marian murmured.

"I will be fine, Marian," Edward replied. "Save your worry for this young man."

Marian's eyes drifted to the blanket covering Allan. There was a slight but steady rise and fall of his chest. In the dungeon, when Robin had explained to Allan that they would be posing as guards carrying out the body of a dead man, Allan had tried to appear indignant at the suggestion that he couldn't walk out on his own. He pointed out that he wasn't a cripple – that it was only a few burns. But Marian could see the relief Allan couldn't conceal in his eyes. He wouldn't want to admit it, but Allan feared he'd never make it out of the prison with the support of his own two legs.

They had found the wooden palettes used as stretchers for the dead. The stretchers carried bodies from the dungeons or from the hangman's noose to a wagon where they would be disposed of in unmarked graves far from the castle. Then Robin and her father had assumed the identities of the two soldiers Sarah had drugged. Finally, Robin and Marian had been fortunate enough to find the greasy jailer toying around in the torture chamber, fiddling with the Rack as if it were the most fascinating of devices. It was the only costume Marian could think of at the time that would be suitable for her, and the stench of the jailer's unwashed garments nearly made her regret that decision. There were smells wafting from the fabric that she couldn't even begin to describe, and her stomach flipped unpleasantly. At the moment, she was thankful it had been quite some time since her last meal.

As the continued on, Marian marveled at the fact Robin knew his way so well through the castle. It was as if he lived there, walking the corridors on a daily basis, and it wasn't long before Robin navigated them out a deserted side passage that brought them into an alleyway that Marian knew was near the stables.

They lowered the stretcher, and Robin pulled back the blanket covering Allan. Surprisingly, Allan was still conscious. Though the pallor of his skin and the sweat glistening on his brow told Marian it wasn't without great effort that he'd remained awake.

"It won't be much longer," Robin assured Allan. Allan muttered something incomprehensible under his breath as he struggled to sit up. Then, Robin turned toward Sarah. "I need you to bring John back here. Can you do that?" Sarah nodded and departed the alley.

Finally, Robin said to Edward and Marian, "Edward I need you to stand guard with me in the street so that no one will think to come back here. Marian, stay with Allan."

As Robin and her father left to take up their fake patrol at the mouth of the alley, Marian glanced down at Allan. Even though he was only sitting, his upper body swayed against the effort of merely keeping himself up. Marian knelt down and grasped his good shoulder before he toppled over.

"Thanks," Allan muttered.

"It won't be much longer," Marian said, repeating Robin's words. "And Allan … I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean much after … after what they did. But I am sorry. You're a very brave man."

Allan gave her a strange look as if her face had suddenly broken out in boils. "Me? Brave?" He shook his head with a disbelieving snort. "What happened in there wasn't being brave. I just wasn't about to give Gisborne or the Sheriff the satisfaction."

"Do you always accept compliments so graciously?" Marian retorted.

Allan opened and closed his mouth a few times without uttering a word before he finally said, with a half-hearted attempt to grin, "Just not used to it, I guess." Allan paused. "Let's just not talk about what happened down there, right? I mean, not exactly a time anyone wants to relive, you know?"

After a moment, Marian nodded. "I couldn't agree more," she murmured. She might have nightmares about it forever, if she lived past the next hour at least, but it wasn't something she would ever feel the need to talk about. What she saw was too horrific for words, and she would never want to try and find the words to describe it. There _were_ no words to describe it.

They stayed together in silence for only a few minutes before Robin returned with John. "Allan," John said upon seeing Allan. It may have only been one word, but Marian heard a wealth of emotion in that gruff voice.

Allan must've noticed it too, and he offered a smile that turned out to be more of a grimace. "Good to see you too, mate."

"John," Robin began, "I need you to get them to the stables. Sarah's gone to get Will, Much, and Djaq. We've been lucky so far. No one's been alerted to our presence, but I need you all out of here now."

Marian frowned, wondering where Robin fit into that little plan when John voiced her concern by saying, "And what about you? You're not staying behind."

"The Sheriff has Wat," Robin explained. "I have to help David."

"We're not leaving you," Marian said, coming quickly to her feet.

"We stay together, and we leave together," John added.

"Look," Robin said, the frustration evident in his voice, "Edward and Allan cannot fight. We need to get them out of here and back to camp. And Marian …"

"Do _not_ patronize me," Marian snapped. "I can help. I will not have you sending me off to Sherwood while you stay here and play hero."

"Your injury -"

"My injury is fine," Marian interrupted. She loved him, but that didn't give him the right to tell her what she could and could not do. She blamed herself as the sole reason they were all in this mess, and she wasn't about to ride off to safety and let someone else clean up after her.

"Marian, please," Robin begged, closing the distance between them and grasping her shoulders. "I need to know that you are safe."

"And I need to know that you are safe," Marian replied. "I can't do that if I'm in the forest and you are here."

"I do not doubt that you can fight," Robin said. "I know that you can help, but I cannot … I cannot lose you again. Marian, please, just go with the others."

"The others are not going anywhere," John said. "We're staying right here."

"Arguing is not helping," Robin pointed out.

"Then stop arguing," Marian replied. "If Sarah's gone to get the others, we should meet at the stables. We will decide what to do from there."

Marian knew Robin wasn't happy, but he also apparently resigned himself to the fact that no one was going to just leave him. It was no use standing here quarreling about it.

Now, there was no choice for Allan but to drag himself to his feet with the help of Little John. Marian winced as she watched Allan struggle against the pain, but he managed to stay upright, though he leaned heavily on John. Meanwhile, Robin pulled the blanket from the stretcher around Allan, fashioning a makeshift cloak and hood. With his good arm, Allan grasped the ends of the blanket, holding the improvised cloak closed around his body.

Marian, Edward, and Robin stayed behind while John and Allan slowly made their way out of the alley. It would've been far too suspicious for the whole group of them to leave at once.

As they waited to give John and Allan enough of a head start, Marian hoped that David succeeded in rescuing Wat because, at the moment, she couldn't even imagine what they could come up with that would keep Robin from venturing back inside. And they would have to plan something quickly, or else Marian knew Robin would do just that.

* * *

David ducked into an empty room at the sound of footsteps approaching. He dared a glance around the corner to see Gisborne heading his way. He drew back into the room, waiting until Gisborne passed, luckily in the direction leading away from the Sheriff's quarters.

For a split second, David's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. The temptation to ambush Gisborne was nearly overpowering. But he stayed his hand, reminding himself that rescuing Wat was his first priority. He wasn't dishonorable enough to stab Gisborne through the back, and a full out battle between them in the castle corridors was bound to raise the alarm. Intuition told him he'd have his chance at Gisborne before this day was through; now was not that time.

After making certain that the coast was clear, David continued his way up to the Sheriff's quarters. He reached the door to the Sheriff's study without further incident. He pounded on the oak door, knowing that no soldier would just burst into the room unannounced. It took longer than David expected for the door to finally open, and there was another soldier standing on the other side.

From his vantage point, David could see that this was the only soldier apparently in the room. He couldn't see the Sheriff. Curious as to where the Sheriff was, David said, "I need to speak with the Sheriff."

"You just missed him," the soldier responded. "Left for the dungeons just a few minutes ago."

_That_ was an unwelcome bit of news for David because there was nothing left for the Sheriff to see in the dungeons. Time was running out.

"Then I'll wait," David said.

The soldier shrugged and stepped aside, admitting David into the room. Wat stood in the corner, his arms folded. As soon as the door closed, David drew his sword and held the point directly at the soldier's throat.

"What the hell?" the soldier exclaimed. "What's the matter with you?"

"Wat," David began, ignoring the startled protests of the soldier, "take his weapons."

It took Wat a second before he reacted. Then, quickly, he disarmed the soldier, laying the sword and dagger on the Sheriff's desk.

"Take the armor off," David instructed the soldier.

"What?"

"I said, take it off," David repeated. "Or I will put this sword through your throat."

Clumsily, the soldier set about removing his helmet and armor. When he finished, standing now only in his pants and tunic, David lowered the sword. He swung his fist, and connected solidly with the soldier's face. The soldier stumbled and fell to the floor, blood spurting from his nose. He groaned but otherwise stayed on the floor.

"Put the armor on, Wat," David said. "Hurry, we don't have much time."

As Wat fumbled with the armor, he said, "The Sheriff got impatient. He figured you weren't going to come back at all, but he said he'd still let me live for another hour. He went down to the dungeons. He wanted to see how his 'guests' were doing."

"All he'll find are empty cells," David muttered. "We have to get out of here. _Now_."

Wat nodded as he pulled the helmet on his head. It sat too low on him, and the entire ensemble looked a bit absurd on his scrawny frame, but David figured it would have to do. If no one paid too much attention, Wat could probably pass as a guard. They only needed the disguises to avoid trouble inside the castle. David trusted their chances more once they were back out in the open with the others.

"Follow me," David instructed Wat. Opening the door, David and Wat slipped out into the corridor.

If he were placing a bet, David would wager it'd be ten minutes at most before all hell broke loose in Nottingham.

* * *

**A/N: **All right, so Marian's plan seemed a bit crazier to me when I initially thought of it and wrote the previous chapter. Oh well. I just decided to let that phase of the plan work perfectly … I guess the so called calm before the storm, you know?

Many thanks to … **gatewatcher** … Thanks so much! I definitely plan for some Robin and Marian alone time at the end of the story, so we'll get some fluff before its all said and done :-D … **Mizco** … Thanks so much! I'm so glad to hear that you're enjoying Sarah's character … **Mira-and-Allan** … Thanks so much! At the moment, Allan is conscious, so we'll count that as a good sign :-D … **CaptCow** … As always, thank you! Yes, I suppose I am dropping a few ominous hints, but that's all for purposes of suspense :-D Thanks again! … **Boys Don't Cry** … I know, I am evil, lol. Thanks so much for the review! Glad you're enjoying … **TaserdbyJack** … Thanks so much! I'm glad you like Sarah and that she comes across as a realistic character - non Mary Sue is always a plus :-D I'm so glad to hear that you're enjoying. I truly appreciate it! … **BigBadWolfyBoy** … Thanks so much! Well, I guess the plan wasn't as crazy as I initially thought is sounded when I wrote that. Oh well, things are probably about to get crazy enough to make up for it :-D … **Jacqueline Roget** … Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! Glad you're enjoying! … **Keiri Bradon** … Thanks so much! I'm glad you enjoyed that line, and look, more Robin in this chapter too :-D And being able to fall asleep in class would be a bonus, though, yeah, unfortunately most teachers frown on that. Thanks again! … **sheeiur22** … Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! Glad you're enjoying!


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

The Sheriff made his way down to the dungeons. He passed few people along the way – servants, soldiers, or otherwise. It was as he expected, considering he'd sent the order for the castle guard to populate the streets of Nottingham shortly following the bounty hunter's departure. Supposedly, David of Doncaster had Hood's other outlaw friends. Of course, just in case the bounty hunter had lied (which would be _most_ unfortunate for his cousin Wat), and Hood's friends were still on the loose, the Sheriff wanted the outer ranks secure, prepared for the inevitable and foolish attempt made to rescue Hood.

The Sheriff would have preferred to think David of Doncaster was not lying, as it would make the Sheriff's life far simpler. But he suspected David _was_ lying, which was why he'd kept Wat under guard in his quarters. Still, either way, Vasey would have all of them. If David delivered the rest of the outlaws, so be it. If not … well, it was only a matter of time before the horribly predictable and _noble_ outlaws risked their lives to rescue their adored leader.

Nobility was completely overrated. If it were the Sheriff (which, of course, it never would be, but if it were), he'd leave Robin Hood to rot. Looking out for one's own interests was the only way to live. If it weren't for that very simple philosophy, Vasey would not be where he was today. Caring about other people only led to trouble and bad decisions. Take Robin Hood, for example. The idiot had a title, a manor, land, and wealth, which all equated to power, which, ultimately, was one of the few things worth having in this life. But he threw it all away because he _cared_. If it were possible, the man was a greater fool than Gisborne, and the Sheriff didn't believe there were many people who could qualify as a bigger idiot than Gisborne.

But, of course, none of that really mattered at the moment. What mattered was the fact that Robin Hood was currently residing in one of the many dungeon cells, and with each step that brought Vasey closer to the dungeons, he felt absolutely giddy at the prospect of seeing Hood behind bars. If it weren't for the blasted stitches in his leg, courtesy of the arrow that outlaw at Knighton had shot through his thigh, things would be nearly perfect in the Sheriff's opinion. Though Hood added a certain spice to his life, Vasey figured he could do well without the challenge for awhile. Boredom for a bit suited him just fine. After all, there were peasants to tax, disloyal nobles to uncover, and plans to solidify his power within England, which included making certain King Richard never returned from the Holy Land. After all, King Richard's return would certainly put a damper on things from his perspective.

So, really, with all that on his plate, there just wasn't any room left for Hood and his little friends, which now included Sir Edward and his self-righteous brat Marian. Of course, none of that came as a terrible shock to Vasey. He long suspected Edward's disloyalty and believed Gisborne a ridiculous love-sick puppy to think Marian was anything more than Hood's trollop. Really, the only thing that did surprise Vasey was Marian's alter ego, the Nightwatchman. Now _that_ was something he hadn't seen coming. Naturally, though, that beautiful gem of a discovery only made it all the easier for him to rid himself of Edward and Marian.

As he made his slow decent down the gently spiraling staircase that led to the dungeons, hampered slightly by his leg, the Sheriff thought about all the preparations he'd have to make for his "guests." The hanging of Robin Hood certainly would not be a private affair. Oh, no, no, no. It wouldn't even simply be a Nottingham affair. Perhaps he would extend an invitation to Prince John – give him a front row seat to the hanging of King Richard's most devout supporters. It would be an event to remember, an entire day of festivities that would culminate with Robin Hood swinging from the end of a rope.

The very thought was enough to spread a slow, satisfied smile across the Sheriff's lips. But that victorious smile faded as easily as it appeared when the Sheriff approached the solid oak door leading to the dungeons. Where two soldiers had been left to stand watch, there was nothing but an empty corridor.

Drawing his own weapon, the Sheriff inched the door open. Silence greeted him in the flickering glow cast off by the torches. He knew before he even saw the evidence with his own eyes that Hood and his friends were no longer here. But like a moth that cannot resist the call of the flame, he moved through the cells. At last he found the two idiots left to guard the dungeons. Both were sprawled on the floor, stripped of their weapons and armor. Neither one budged, both of them out cold.

Vasey ground his teeth together as he yanked the barred door open. His foot connected solidly with on of the soldiers. "Get up, you idiot!" The man groaned and slowly opened his bleary eyes. Upon seeing the Sheriff looming above him, the soldiers scrambled drunkenly to his feet.

"My lord." The words slurred together and sound something a bit more like: "My-or."

The soldier swayed, and his eyes rolled back before he crumpled to the floor in a heap once more. Blood boiling, the Sheriff kicked the hapless soldier a few more times, using his good leg, of course. When that failed to satisfy the rage bubbling in his chest, the Sheriff turned and surveyed the empty cells, grinding his teeth the entire time.

Hood was gone. Marian and Edward were gone. Even the Rack's first test subject was gone. He couldn't very well have a Robin Hood Hanging without Robin Hood!

It was likely, at least, that between the old man and the freshly injured outlaw, their progress would be hindered. They couldn't have gone far. The Sheriff still had his archers along the walls and soldiers stationed throughout the town.

He might be cursed, surrounded by absolute incompetence (Gisborne was proof of that, and the Sheriff knew that _somehow_ Gisborne was to blame for this mess), but Hood was not leaving Nottingham alive. Not this time.

* * *

Having left the Sheriff's quarters with permission to check with the lieutenants of the castle guard for their reports, Gisborne walked through the castle grounds without really thinking about the lieutenants. No doubt their news would be the same: nothing. Besides that, good gossip never took long to travel far, and it went without saying that the whole of Nottingham would already know that bounty hunters had delivered Robin Hood to the Sheriff. The soldiers would relax, confident that the threat of an outlaw rescue was no longer imminent. They would drift into lazy contentment, eager to make their wages for the least work possible. Some would bribe maids to bring extra ale, some would drift into taverns where pretty wenches were available for a coin or two, and some would take up games of dice in darkened corners and alleyways. 

Naturally, all of those activities that had absolutely nothing to do with guarding the castle carried heavy penalties that included lost pay, lashes, or the stocks. That never seemed a hindrance. Gisborne couldn't count the number of times he'd discovered soldiers slacking in their duties. It was so commonplace, Gisborne would almost be shocked to find all the soldiers at their stations, diligent in their duties.

Despite all of this, it wasn't so much the soldiers that kept pulling at Gisborne's mind. It was his confrontation with Marian in the dungeon.

"_I will die with Robin. I would rather die a hundred times over by his side than be your wife." _

Gisborne clenched his jaw as the words continued to race through his mind, taunting him. He wasn't sure what enraged him more – the fact that Marian never cared about him or the fact that she still loved Hood. All he knew was that he'd been a fool to ever think she cared about him. And he was even more of a fool to still want her. His proposal in the dungeon had not been insincere, though he had meant her becoming his wife would not save her from some type of punishment. Despite everything, he would still have her; he would take her even if she agreed to be his wife under duress. Perhaps, given time, he could make her care. That, he knew, made him all the more pathetic, and this weakness she invoked within him sickened him.

How had she gotten under his skin like this? How had he given Marian the ability to torment him like this? She had betrayed and humiliated him. She had used him, accepting his proposal to save her and to save her father. It was never because she cared.

_"I will die with Robin."_

His hands tightened into fists. He would give Marian her wish. She'd left him no choice. She would die alongside her lover, and Gisborne wished he could say that he would find it utterly satisfying to see them both dead. But he couldn't because what he wanted was Hood to see Marian as his wife and his alone. He once believed he'd taken everything from Hood – his home, his land, and his love. But he hadn't.

Gritting his teeth, Gisborne forced the thoughts out of his mind. That was when Gisborne first noticed three soldiers clustered together in front of the recently deceased physician's house. Two were slumped against the wall while the third swayed unsteadily on his feet. Certainly, the soldiers broke the rules, but Gisborne couldn't remember ever seeing such open displays of drunkenness. In his current mood, Gisborne would be happy to send each of them to the stocks for a week.

Fueled by his anger and frustration, Gisborne headed straight for the disobedient soldiers. Spinning around the swaying one, he slammed the man against the wall of the house. "What do you think you are doing? In the middle of your shift, getting drunk?"

"I – I swear its n-not our fault, S-Sir Guy," the soldier stammered. "All we had was the drink of ale the maids brought round. We've been feeling odd ever since."

Gisborne stared hard at the soldier, somehow sensing the truth. The soldier wasn't drunk; he was drugged. "Where's the girl who served you this?" Gisborne demanded.

The soldier pointed off in the direction of the stables. "She went off that way."

Releasing the soldier, Gisborne headed in that direction. He hadn't gone far when a familiar face caught his attention. Normally, he didn't pay any great deal of attention to such trivial things as the appearance of castle servants. Perhaps because of his suspicions concerning David of Doncaster's miraculous capture of Hood, Gisborne had paid just a bit more attention than usual to detail. He recognized the girl from the dungeons – the one who'd been on her way to offer the soldiers refreshment just as he'd been leaving.

She never even realized he spotted her until Gisborne seized her arm. Startled, she yelped with surprise. Then, he watched all the blood drain from her face as her eyes met his. From the expression alone, Gisborne knew this girl wasn't just some kitchen maid. Right now, she had the look of a small prey animal realizing she was cornered – realizing she was about to become his dinner.

"You helped him escape," Gisborne said as his grip tightened on her arm, knowing without a doubt that Hood was no longer sitting locked in a cell.

"M-my lord, p-please," the girl stuttered. "W-what are you t-talking about? Who escaped?"

"Your lies can't save you," Gisborne said. "Tell me where Hood is, or what he has planned. You might then have a merciful death."

Before the girl could even draw her next breath to offer him another lie no doubt, Gisborne had the tip of his dagger blade pressed to her throat. He held it so tightly that a bright red droplet formed on the point. The girl winced as a soft, strangled sound of distress escaped her lips. "Think carefully about what you say next," Gisborne said. He asserted a little more pressure on the dagger blade. "Am I making myself clear?"

"A little too clear, Gisborne. Let her go."

A blade dug meaningfully into his back, warning him that if he took the chance to slit the girl's throat out of spite, he wouldn't live but a few seconds longer than her.

Carefully, Gisborne eased the pressure off of the girl's throat as he released his grip on her arm. The girl backed away slowly, her hand rising instinctively to her throat. She looked terrified as she felt the blood on her fingertips, but Gisborne knew he'd barely given the girl more than a scratch.

"Drop your weapon."

Gisborne's dagger fell to the ground.

"And the sword."

As Gisborne removed his sword and discarded that to the earth as well, he said, "You will never make it out of here alive, Hood."

"I think I have already heard that one before," Robin replied.

But as if to bolster the validity of Gisborne's statement, the chapel bell clanged sharply in the distance. It was the alarm that was agreed upon – the signal to lower the gates and for the men to ready their weapons.

"That bell," Gisborne began, taking the utmost satisfaction in saying it, "is not calling all the good people to mass, Hood. That bell is your death warrant."

* * *

Many thanks to … **Keiri Bradon** … Thanks so much! As always, I'm glad to hear you're enjoying. I had to get a few things out from Guy's and Vasey's POV first, but believe me, the "all hell breaking loose" is coming :-D … **Jacqueline Roget** … Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! Glad to hear you're enjoying … **hoodie622** … Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! I'm so happy to hear you're enjoying. As for the psychic bit, I have to say I wrote that on purpose. I have only seen the first 3 episodes of the second season on YouTube, but I do know how the season ends … unfortunately. Allan is a tough one to write for, and I absolutely hate writing things from the Sheriff's POV. I enjoy the Sheriff's character, but writing his character makes me want to pull my hair out. Well, again, thank you! I truly appreciate it! … **gatewatcher** … Thanks so much! As always, I truly appreciate it! And the Sheriff truly isn't very happy about finding an empty dungeon. Things are definitely going to get a bit crazy now :-D … **CaptCow** … Thanks so much! Yes, I would take that sign as optimistic :-D Of course, Allan isn't out of the woods yet, none of them are, really, but well … we'll just look at the glass as half full instead of half empty where Allan is concerned :-D I'm glad you enjoyed the bit with Allan and Marian. As always, thank you! … **TaserdbyJack **… As always, thank you for the lovely review! It is much appreciated. I'm glad you liked the plan – at least it got Allan part of way out of Nottingham! Of course, the whole gang still has a ways to go. I only wish it'd take me just ten minutes to write the next chapter! That would be nice, but definitely wishful thinking :-D Again, thank you! … **BigBadWolfyBoy** … Thanks so much! I truly appreciate it! As always, I'm happy to hear that you're enjoying the story! 


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **Okay, really, I'm not trying to be evil by not posting in four months. But I was pregnant (and lazy), and now my daughter is four weeks old :-D So, as you can imagine, finding any kind of "me" time is VERY few and far between. All right, so I felt I owed you all a reason for lack of updates. So now, I hope you enjoy! Thanks again for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 21**

On their way to the improvised rendezvous point at the stables, Robin was the first to notice Sarah locked in Gisborne's none too friendly embrace. From the way Gisborne handled her, Robin knew their cover was blown. Gisborne realized Sarah wasn't who she claimed to be, which also meant he likely realized Robin was no longer getting acquainted with the dungeon rats.

"Keep going," Robin instructed Edward and Marian.

"What - ?"

"Just go," Robin told Marian, interrupting her. "Meet with the others. If this gets out of hand, I trust you will think of something." It was about the only thing Robin could think of to say that would keep Marian from stubbornly following him. Then, he moved off before either Marian or Edward could say another word, and, thankfully, he had been correct; Marian listened to him and stayed with her father.

As Robin neared Gisborne, he saw the blade Gisborne held to Sarah's throat, and he heard Gisborne say, "Think carefully about what you say next. Am I making myself clear?"

At that moment, Robin closed the distance between them. Without anything smaller than a broadsword and not wishing to attract too much attention just yet, Robin resorted to one of Marian's trusty hairpins. With it pressed against Gisborne's back, at least Gisborne wouldn't realize his life was being threatened by a hairpin.

"A little too clear, Gisborne," Robin said, digging the point of the hairpin meaningfully into Gisborne's back. "Let her go."

Robin noticed the slight hesitation, but, slowly, Gisborne eased the blade from Sarah's throat. Then, he released his grip on her arm, and Sarah backed away, her hand rising to her throat. She looked utterly terrified. And Robin felt for the poor girl who'd probably visualized her death on the tip of that blade, but there was nothing he could do for her right now. Returning his attention to Gisborne, Robin ordered, "Drop your weapon."

Obediently, Gisborne dropped his dagger.

"And the sword," Robin instructed.

As the sword fell alongside the dagger, leaving Gisborne at a distinct disadvantage, he told Robin, "You will never make it out of here alive, Hood."

If he had a piece of gold for the number of times he'd heard that, Robin could feed the whole of Locksley for the winter. "I think I have already heard that one before," Robin returned.

It was then that Robin heard the chapel bell cong, reverberating throughout the town. He knew that the bell would not normally be ringing at this hour or on this particular day. In fact, Nottingham's chapel bell often remained silent due to the fact that the Sheriff had no real interest in preserving his soul and had yet to replace the former chaplain who'd fallen ill and passed some time ago. It was a source of discontent amongst the people of the castle, but the people's discontent was hardly a concern the Sheriff bothered with.

As if to reiterate what Robin already sensed, Gisborne said, "That bell is not calling all the good people to mass, Hood. That bell is your death warrant."

Thinking fast, Robin wrenched one of Gisborne's arms behind his back as he still kept the hairpin in position. "Then I suppose it will your death warrant as well. Move." Robin jerked his head in Sarah's direction, indicating that she follow them before he forced Gisborne around and pushed him toward the stables. They received quite a few curious looks form the local denizens – what with Robin dressed as a soldier and moving Gisborne against his will.

Robin hadn't planned on a hostage, and he wasn't even certain if the Sheriff would care all that much about skewering Gisborne along with the rest of them. But, for now, it was the only leverage Robin possessed … not to mention the fact that he couldn't just let Gisborne go. _That_ certainly wouldn't help the situation.

Of course, that was when things began falling apart rather rapidly. In the distance, Robin heard the unmistakable sound of the main gate lowering, barring easy access out of the castle. Then, between the sound of the "alarm" and the fact that Robin had Gisborne hostage, it didn't take long for the soldiers to pinpoint him. The soldiers swarmed from various locations, forming a tight circle around Robin, Gisborne, and Sarah. Robin couldn't imagine where the soldiers materialized from, but he now realized why the streets of Nottingham had seemed strangely devoid of soldiers from his previous vantage point at the mouth of the alleyway. Not all of the soldiers wore armor. At least half of them were garbed in normal peasant or merchant attire. Apparently counting on numbers and worrying less about the protection of his men, the Sheriff had ordered some of the guards to forgo their typical attire in order to blend in and thus perhaps create a false sense of security.

Some of the armored soldiers appeared unsteady on their feet, courtesy of Djaq, but they still appeared able to fight. The ones in peasant garb looked alert. The maids probably hadn't even known they were soldiers. Of course, Robin hadn't counted on Djaq's sleeping draught working miracles, but he had at least hoped for better odds. Djaq had warned him she had neither the time nor the resources to brew enough for an entire castle full of soldiers. It would have to be spread thin, reserving the strongest of the draught for the dungeon soldiers. If they had been supremely lucky, that strongest of the draught would've also found its way to Gisborne and the Sheriff, but, naturally, luck only ran so far. Still, Robin had chosen to be optimistic. Apparently, he'd been a little _too_ optimistic.

And he'd allowed the temporary shock of being surrounded so completely and so quickly to lower his guard. Gisborne must've sensed Robin's momentary distraction, and, taking his chances, Gisborne used his free arm and elbow to catch Robin in the face.

Robin's head snapped back, but Gisborne didn't slip away unscathed. Still wearing the soldier's helmet, Gisborne's elbow had caught the flat strip of metal from the helmet that covered Robin's nose. Gisborne cursed while Robin snatched the opportunity to toss the bulky weight of the helmet, discard the hairpin, and draw his sword. Holding the sword level with Gisborne's chest, Robin met the dark gaze of his enemy. Without question, there was a desire to drive the blade through Gisborne's heart. It was a desire so strong it nearly overwhelmed Robin. This was the man who'd nearly taken Marian from him twice. This was the man who called himself lord of Locksley, treating the good and hardworking people who worked those lands as if they were little more than worthless property, meant to be trod upon and discarded as if they weren't people but merely possessions.

It never occurred to Robin that he'd abandoned those same people five years earlier, Marian included. He only thought about the moment before him, and he met the eyes of his enemy, knowing his own eyes reflected the loathing in Gisborne's. And though he wanted his revenge on Gisborne, Robin realized that would be suicide right now, and he kept his hand steady. Surrounded as he was, he couldn't end Gisborne's life without falling to the same fate within seconds. There was more than revenge that hung within the balance of the next few minutes – namely the fact Robin needed to get the people he loved out of here.

So, Robin stood armed, though such a gesture appeared fruitless in the face of so many adversaries. The soldiers did not advance on him, but they kept him bound in the middle of their circle, leaving him without room for escape. His mind began clicking, trying desperately to search for a weakness, for a way out of this. But nothing formed, and Robin found he could do nothing but wait until the Sheriff made his way across the grounds toward the little gathering on the streets of Nottingham. From inside the circle, Robin glanced in the Sheriff's direction, noticing that the Sheriff favored one of his legs as though the limb had been recently injured. Still, Vasey did not appear to be suffering. In fact, he looked triumphant.

Slowly, some of the soldiers parted, allowing the Sheriff access to the inner circle where Robin stood with a terrified Sarah who possessed nothing more than the dagger she'd taken from one of the dungeon soldiers to defend herself with.

The Sheriff flicked a disapproving glance at the weaponless Gisborne, shaking his head as he did so. Then, the Sheriff turned his full attention on Robin.

"Well, well, well," the Sheriff murmured. "You just never give up, do you? But then, I suppose the bounty hunter was a fraud, and that was your plan all along. Clever, Hood, but _not_ clever enough. Now, I suggest you tell me where your little friends are hiding. Maybe then I'll find it in my heart to give them merciful deaths." The Sheriff paused as if considering that statement for a moment. "Oh, but wait. I forgot one teensy little point. I don't have a heart. Well," the Sheriff continued with a clap of his hands, "perhaps I could at least give them _less_ painful deaths. Less painful than yours, anyway."

Again, Robin searched his options. Unfortunately, there _were_ no options. So he did the only thing left for him. Robin braced himself, prepared to fight. If the Sheriff thought he was going to make this easy just because he was surrounded then the Sheriff was sorely mistaken.

* * *

Instinct told Marian to follow Robin after she saw that Gisborne was harassing Sarah. From what she could tell, it was apparent that Gisborne suspected Sarah of something. Whether or not he thought she was helping Robin was another matter. But regardless of why Gisborne had Sarah cornered, Robin wasn't going to let Sarah handle the situation on her own, and that worried Marian. After all, Robin didn't exactly have a cool head when it came to Guy. Though, Marian reasoned, she needed to stay with her father at the moment. Aside from that, if Robin did something foolish, it wouldn't help matters if she were caught in the middle of it. Better to be on the outside, waiting to help if it became necessary. Hopefully, trouble could be avoided, and they could still manage to slip away from Nottingham undetected. Unfortunately, Marian knew very well that was wishful thinking.

As she continued toward the stables beside her father, Marian heard the chapel bell, and she knew that nothing good could come from that sound. At this time, on this particular day, there were no services that the bell heralded. Instead, Marian realized the bell was being used as a signal.

Her heart jumped and her stomach twisted into impenetrable knots of apprehension. Marian turned just in time to see soldiers – some in armor, some in ordinary garb – surrounding Robin, Guy and Sarah. She couldn't guess how they could've so readily picked their target until she caught of glimpse of Robin holding Guy at the point of her hairpin. All the armor in the world couldn't disguise Robin now that he held Sir Guy hostage.

Between her rising panic and the absurdity of seeing Guy believing his life was threatened by a mere hairpin, Marian felt the inappropriate urge to laugh. That momentary lapse of control passed, and Marian once again became grounded in what she was seeing. Robin was hopelessly outnumbered.

Without even thinking her actions completely through, Marian took a few steps toward Robin, reaching for her heavy and ill-balanced sword that was strapped at her waist beneath the voluminous robes of the jailer. Before she could act on that reckless impulse, however, a hand seized her upper arm in a steady grip, and she was pulled back toward the stables and relative, momentary safety before she even fully registered what was happening.

Regaining her balance and her wits, Marian prepared to attack whoever had grabbed her. When she spun around, she came face to face with Much. "I am supposed to protect you," he said simply. Then, drawing a deep breath, he continued, "And I cannot do that if you do something … stupid."

Marian studied Much for a second, and Much met her eyes and never wavered, showing Marian he was all too sincere about the duty of protecting her. Slightly annoyed at the prospect of a dedicated bodyguard, Marian shrugged out of Much's grasp. She knew full well that Robin must have instructed Much to keep a close watch on her – to make certain she made it out of Nottingham.

"Robin and Sarah are surrounded," Marian said bluntly.

"Right, yes, I know," Much replied. "I mean … well, of course, I can _see_ that. And … yes, they are surrounded. Well, which means we have to think. Take deep breaths, do _not_ panic, and just think." He glanced at the other outlaws gathered in the stables. "We have to think. And we cannot panic," he repeated.

Marian rather thought Much looked like he was quite prepared to panic. She couldn't blame him. She felt close to panicking again herself, but she was more adept at hiding it than Much, who was now pacing. Of course, Much had made a valid point. They did need to think, and they needed to think quickly. Time was not on their side.

So, after a prolonged silence during which Much paced and Marian and the other outlaws sort of just looked at each other helplessly, each waiting for the other to come up with a spontaneous, brilliant plan, Allan finally said, "I hate to point out the obvious, but right now, being stupid is about the only thing we've got going for us."

Again, there was a brief period of silence. Then, Will said, "Allan's right."

"See?" Allan said. "It does happen once in awhile."

Much stopped pacing long enough to roll his eyes heavenward and shoot both Will and Allan disparaging glances. "Being stupid is _not_ a plan."

"Neither is pacing," Allan returned.

"Look," Will interrupted before Much and Allan could argue about what was a plan and what wasn't a plan, "what I mean is, there is no perfect idea for this. We have nothing left but fighting our way out of here."

"If it's come down to that, so be it," Little John said.

"We will have to split up," Djaq said. "Some of us will have to go to Robin and some of us will have to go to the gate. We must raise the gate. It is the only way."

"Agreed," John said, speaking for everyone.

Meanwhile, Marian glanced around at the horse stalls. "We should saddle the horses," she offered. "That might give us an advantage. Besides, we will never make it out of here on foot."

Without another word, John, Will, and even her father set about saddling the horses. As they hurried with their task, Djaq joined Marian. "You should remove those robes," Djaq suggested. "They will only get in the way."

Marian nodded, yanking the jailer's robes over her head and tossing the wretched garments aside. She wished she were wearing her Nightwatchman costume instead of a dress which restricted her movements. Improvising, Marian asked Djaq to help her slit the sides of her skirt which would at least permit her more freedom of movement, and it would give her and easier time in the saddle. Now wasn't the time for propriety.

"Here," Djaq said after they'd finished the alterations to Marian's skirt. She offered Marian a smaller, lighter weight sword than the one she currently carried. "This will work better for you."

"Thank you," Marian replied, taking the hilt in her hand. She tested the balance, and she was relieved to find it did suit her far better than the other sword. She hadn't been looking forward to trying to use the ungainly soldier's blade in battle. It surely would have been to her disadvantage.

She looked over at Allan then, wondering how he was going to fit into this. They still had to get him out of here. He was in no condition to fight.

Djaq followed Marian's gaze. "Can you …?" Marian's question trailed off. Somehow, she didn't know how to put what she wanted to ask into words. Can you save him? How could she ask that? And what if the answer wasn't what she wanted to hear? But Marian had to have faith. After all, Djaq had managed to save her. Marian would hardly credit the doctor for her miraculous recovery. If it hadn't been for Djaq, she would be dead.

Yet, even without the words, Djaq understood Marian's question. "There will be infection and fever," Djaq said. "There are medicines I can make at camp, but … there are things out of my control."

Marian accepted Djaq's evasive answer without comment. Djaq would do what she could for Allan, but, ultimately, there was more to it than medicines.

Marian forced the unpleasant thoughts from her mind. First, they had to make it out of Nottingham.

* * *

Slumped against the wall, trying desperately to ignore the pain, Allan watched the others around him. There was a current of panic pulsing just beneath the surface, though everyone aside from Much did their best to conceal it. Will, John, and even Sir Edward set about saddling the horses at Marian's suggestion. Much continued to monitor the situation occurring not far from the stables, and every now and again, he muttered something beneath his breath, but the soft words were lost on Allan. Then, across the way, Djaq helped Marian alter her skirt by using a dagger to cut the fabric and rip rather long slits up her thighs so she could move as if she were wearing trousers instead of a dress. As a man – and a man who certainly wasn't yet dead – he had to admire the view, however brief it was before the skirt settled about her ankles again. After all, Marian was a well-proportioned lady. She might be Robin's one and only, but that didn't mean Allan couldn't appreciate Robin's taste from afar.

Then, when Djaq and Marian finished with the impromptu alterations, Djaq offered Marian a blade far better suited to her than the bulky excess of metal that had previously belonged to a dungeon soldier. Allan certainly wasn't a blacksmith, and he didn't claim to be an expert, but he knew enough about weapons to know poor craftsmanship when he saw it. The Sheriff had probably bought the swords at a discount.

Still, in spite of the poor quality, it was still a weapon. And Allan could use one of those. If anyone actually thought he was just going to take a spectator's seat then they had another thing coming to them. Injured or not, Allan wasn't about to be told to sit back. He certainly felt a good bit better about living than he did while he was stretched out on the Sheriff's pet project, but Allan wasn't an idiot, and he wasn't a hopeless optimist either. He knew he'd survive the wounds themselves, but infection was another story all together. And he possessed a great many open wounds, ripe for infection. They hadn't yet been cleaned and dressed properly, and that wasn't likely to happen for quite awhile, if it happened at all. Having his burns sterilized and his shoulder relocated would require they make it back to camp. Right now, Allan wasn't going to hold his breath on that one. Always better to have low expectations, anyway. Then, he couldn't be disappointed with the outcome. Regardless, the point was that if he was going to die anyway, he wasn't about to die hanging around while everyone else fought for him. As far as he was concerned, things didn't work like that – at least not for him.

While Marian and Djaq whispered to each other, looking at him as if he'd already gone to his grave, Allan decided now was as good a time as any to let them all know they weren't going to shuffle him off to some corner. Allan pushed himself off the wall, wincing as he did so, and he crossed the distance between himself and Marian and Djaq. Allan regarded the sword Marian had discarded before bracing himself and crouching down to retrieve the fallen blade.

"What are you doing?" Djaq demanded. "You cannot fight in your condition."

"Lucky for me, they dislocated my left shoulder," Allan replied as he stood with the sword in his right hand.

"Allan," Djaq began, "we do not expect you to fight."

"I know," Allan said. Before Djaq could protest further, Allan continued, "Don't worry about me. Look, if it'll make you feel better, I'll go with the gate group. This way, I'll be closer to the exit. If I collapse, John won't have to drag me as far."

"Is that supposed to be amusing?" Djaq asked, and Allan could see his attempts to be offhand about the whole thing hadn't gone over very well with her.

Allan sighed. "Djaq, I'm not bein' funny. Really. Would you prefer I walk out there unarmed? What good is that going to do anyone?"

Before Djaq could respond, though she appeared resigned to the fact she couldn't tell Allan what he could or could not do, Much spun away from his post. "The Sheriff is coming."

"John and I will go to the gates along with Sir Edward and Allan," Djaq instructed brusquely with a tone that commanded no argument. "Marian, Much, and Will, that leaves Robin and Sarah to you."

_Right_, Allan thought. He _really_ wasn't about to hold his breath on escaping. It was bad enough they were outnumbered as it was. But with having to split their meager group, that just didn't seem to equal a happy outcome in Allan's mind.

Of course, as Luck had proven time and again, she really was Robin's dearest friend. Before any of them could prepare for the ensuing battle, Much's words stopped them. "I cannot believe it. I absolutely can_not_ believe it."

"Care to fill us in, Much?" Allan asked. But the others were already crowding around Much for a view of what he couldn't believe. It took Allan a little longer than he would've liked to catch a glimpse at the unbelievable, which included the Sheriff being held hostage by one of his own soldiers. Allan hadn't a clue as to who the half-baked soldier was, but he bloody well wanted to give the man a hug.

* * *

**A/N: **So, does this mean its smooth sailing from here on out? Maybe, maybe not … I just wanted to end a chapter on bit of a high note for once :-D

Many thanks to … **gatewatcher** … As always, thanks so much for the review! It is much appreciated! Well, it wasn't so much Robin who came up with a plan, but someone came up with an impromptu rescue plan. I won't say who yet, though I'm sure that's probably fairly obvious :-D … **Keiri Bradon** … Thanks so much! I'm glad you enjoyed Gisborne's inner monologue concerning Robin. I actually kind of like writing things from Gisborne's POV on occasion. And I did receive your message, by the way. I'm not dead, just a mom now :-D Oh, and Happy Birthday, as well :-D I hope its a good one, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks so much again! … **TaserdbyJack** … Thanks so much! I'm so thrilled to hear you liked the Sheriff POV section. I know I've said it before: I love the Sheriff's character, but I just hate writing him. He's a tough cookie to write for … for me, anyway. You know, and I just have to think that the soldiers who work at Nottingham have to be a bit lazy. They usually aren't very adept whenever there are outlaws to fight! Though I guess I think of them as disgruntled employees. I can't imagine working for the Sheriff would be a very fulfilling career choice :-D Again, I truly appreciate the review! … **Jacqueline Roget** … Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! Always happy to hear you're enjoying! … **DeanParker** … lol, thanks so much for reading and reviewing! I can't give anything away, of course, but I will try to keep everyone breathing :-D … **Boys Don't Cry** … Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked the cliffhanger! As always, I truly appreciate the review, and I'm always happy to hear that you're enjoying! … **CaptCow** … Well … perhaps now the escape will work a bit more in the outlaws' favor. For now anyway :-D We still have a ways to go before the end of the story. As always, thank you! The reviews are much appreciated! ... **Shadow Chaser** ... Thanks so much! Glad to hear that you're enjoying the story. I'm also glad to hear you've liked Robin's characterization throughout the story ... there might be some of that Crusader Robin to come. After all, though I ended the chapter on a high note, I don't think it is likely they'll make it out of here without some confrontation :-D ... **xxCCxx** ... Thanks so much! Glad to hear you're enjoying! ... **chat-noir-91** ... Not being funny, but, yeah, endings are nice :-D LOL. Sorry about the lack of an ending. I just have so many things going on, and my writing tends to get pushed to the side. I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and thank you so much for the review. It is much appreciated! ... **DeathlyElegance** ... Thanks so much for the review! Glad to hear you're enjoying! ... **cflat** ... Thanks so much for the review! Glad to see you're enjoying, though I am sorry for severe lack of updates ... **wildenglishrose** ... Thanks so much! I'm glad that you are enjoying the story!

I hope I didn't leave anyone out. If I did I apologize, but my mind is in about a million different places at this point :-D As always, thank you all a million times over!


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N**: Honestly, I haven't given up on this story. I know it seems that way, but I am determined to finish it. Thank you all so much again for reading and reviewing! It is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 22**

David glanced over his shoulder to make sure Wat was still close behind. They moved quickly through the castle corridors, knowing it could only be a matter of minutes before the Sheriff realized he no longer had prisoners. That little fact would make an escape out of the castle far more difficult.

As they stepped outside, David raised his hand for Wat to stop. Taking a moment, David surveyed the scene, searching for anything suspicious. Everything still appeared calm. Apparently, Nottingham was still oblivious to the fact there were outlaws loose in her midst. That, of course, suited David just fine.

Unfortunately, however, the moment of calm lasted barely a full minute before the chapel bell ripped through the quiet. Wat jumped at the sudden noise while David sensed that bell wasn't signaling the start of mass. His suspicions were quickly confirmed as a group of soldiers appeared.

"That's the signal. Spread out, search the city," one of the soldiers commanded as he shoved Wat who stumbled into David.

Taking this to mean that the Sheriff's men hadn't seen through their disguises and mistook them as comrades, David nodded and drew his sword. "Follow me," he said to Wat, using the same brisk tone the other soldier had used when ordering them to search the city.

Drawing his own weapon, Wat kept pace with David and the other soldiers as they moved through the main thoroughfare of Nottingham. It didn't take long for David to see soldiers crowding Sarah and Robin, still in his own armored disguise, and it appeared Robin had taken Gisborne hostage. Despite the situation, David almost laughed as he and Wat closed in with the other soldiers, and David realized Robin was holding Gisborne at the point of a hairpin. It was a comical sight, but one that didn't last long as Gisborne seized Robin's momentary lapse and used his free arm to elbow Robin in the face.

Gisbourne cursed, grasping his elbow as Robin's head snapped back from the force of the hit. At that moment, Robin quickly discarded the helmet and the hairpin, drawing his sword and holding it level with Gisborne's chest. David could clearly see the desire burning in Robin's eyes to take that sword and plunge it straight into Gisborne's heart. A blind man could've seen the hatred sparking between the two, but Robin wisely held back. David knew Robin must've realized how useless it would've been to kill Gisborne – gratifying, perhaps, but useless. Surrounded as he was at the moment, Robin would have understood his best offensive was simply to wait for an opportunity to present itself, though Opportunity looked hard pressed to make an appearance at this point.

David then shifted his attention to Sarah, who stood a little behind Robin. Her face was deathly pale. She was armed with only a dagger, and the hand that held her weapon trembled slightly. Then David noticed a thin line of blood at her throat. It didn't look to be more than a scratch, really, but David suspected Gisborne had been the one to give her that present.

As the standoff continued, David wondered what they were waiting for. Of course, the wait worked to his advantage as he tried to think of how he and Wat might be able to help Robin, which, admittedly, seemed impossible. He wasn't quite sure how they'd manage to help considering that adding him and Wat to the mix wouldn't exactly even the odds. So, as he surveyed the seemingly hopeless situation, a horrible thought occurred to David.

It occurred to him that he and Wat were still invisible as far as the Sheriff, Gisborne, and the other soldiers were concerned. No one yet realized who they were, and it would be simple enough to still slip away unscathed. Tuck had the bounty gold waiting for them in Sherwood. Maybe it wasn't what they'd initially hoped to gain, but it was more than enough to start a new life, to leave England. After all, David had upheld his end of the bargain by "delivering" Robin to the Sheriff. He'd even gone one step further and went back for Wat. He'd played his role, done all that he promised. Nothing was keeping him here. There was no reason to throw his life away and stand for Robin Hood when this was clearly the end of the line for the notorious outlaw and his gang.

It was self preservation taking over, and David even took an unconscious step backward. For too long, his only view on life was that he had to look out for one person and that person was him, David of Doncaster. No one watched his back; no one helped him when he was down on his luck. His very profession denied him any lasting attachments to people or places.

The instinct to flee was difficult to ignore. In fact, if the Sheriff hadn't made his appearance just then, slipping right between David and Wat, David couldn't honestly answer what he would've done. Whether or not he was ashamed of it didn't signify. He'd never know the answer anyway because the Sheriff just presented him the simplest means of escape for everyone.

After the Sheriff gave his snide little speech about not having a heart and painful deaths, David inched closer. He saw Robin brace for a fight, unwilling to simply give up despite the odds. And David had to respect the man his unfailing courage. Not many could have stood as Robin did at that moment, unwavering and stoic in the face of almost certain death.

Quickly, David pulled his stiletto blade – the same blade he'd held poised at Djaq's heart only hours earlier. Lucky for him, Robin saw fit to return it. Pointing the tip of the stiletto at the Sheriff's throat, David said, "You're right. The bounty hunter was a fraud – the bounty hunter being me, of course."

David felt the Sheriff tense just as he watched Robin relax – a little, anyway. A ghost of a smile –a small sign of relief – passed over Robin's lips. Slowly, David stepped back with the Sheriff's back to his chest, the tip of the stiletto blade still firmly poised against the Sheriff's throat. David could sense Wat behind him, watching for anyone who might try to pull a trick like Tuck had done earlier – a staff to the back of David's head.

"Impossible!" the Sheriff spat, left with nothing but anger and words as he watched his carefully laid trap crumble in less than a minute. David suspected that, if he could see the Sheriff, he'd see a man who, at the moment, looked like a child on the verge of a tantrum.

"No, apparently not impossible," Robin said. "We are just smarter than you gave us credit for."

_Lucky is more bloody like it_, David thought.

"Now," Robin continued, "I would suggest you order your men to drop their weapons."

* * *

Allan sensed the giddy rush of relief that swept over his friends as they heard the Sheriff order his men to stand down. Suddenly, fortunes turned, and escaping the Sheriff and the Nottingham became a reality none of them truly dared believe only a few minutes before.

"It must be David or Wat holding the Sheriff," Djaq said as none of them could see the face of their savior since he wore a helmet.

Allan didn't know who David or Wat were, but he sure as hell didn't care. All that mattered was that _someone_ was holding the Sheriff hostage, and that was their golden ticket out.

"Trusting them turned out to be one of Robin's better ideas," Will said.

"Well surely, at the time, no one could have expected this," Much replied.

"No," Will agreed. "We couldn't, but it happened. They proved their loyalty." He paused. "They saved our lives."

"Which, if I might point out, only makes up for the fact they wanted to hand us over to Prince John earlier," Much returned.

"Try not to sound _too_ happy Robin was right," Djaq said.

"It is not that."

Allan could see the small smile tugging at the corners of Djaq's mouth. "Oh, no, of course not, Much."

"Well, it isn't," Much continued. "It was only a point – and a very good one. But, well … things like this just encourage him."

"If this is the result of his crazy ideas, I'll take it," Will pointed out.

"Aye," Little John said, clapping Much on the shoulder. "I think we all can."

Allan watched them – his friends, people that he might well consider his family. The almost delirious euphoria was palpable, evident in their faces and words as John and Sir Edward started guiding the saddled horsed to them so they could join Robin and the others. But Allan studied them from the outside – somehow feeling no longer a part of this. Everyone was saved; everyone would see the sun rise and set tomorrow. They would talk and laugh and eat – such simple things, really. But whether or not he would do those things … well, he didn't know the answer to that.

Allan leaned against the wall. He felt the dampness on his brow, the trickle of sweat down the back of his neck. His hands felt clammy and wooden, and, without realizing it, the sword slipped from his grasp. The adrenaline fled his body, leaving him weak, tired, and far more aware of his pain than he would've liked. He gritted his teeth, willing his legs to keep him upright.

Will approached him, and Allan forced a careless smile. "Robin's got the luck of the devil, hasn't he? Wouldn't have thought anyone could've gotten us out of this bloody mess."

"Allan …" Will's voice trailed off, and Allan could see him assessing the damage, slowly realizing how far the Sheriff and Gisborne had gone. There hadn't been time for this before – time for understanding how badly he was wounded and what those numerous, open wounds meant.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Really," Allan said quickly, unable to confront the worry and fear reflected in Will's eyes – the dawning realization that everything was not fine. "Nothin' Djaq can't fix up, right?"

"I'm sorry."

And there it was. Beyond the worry and fear, there was guilt. Allan knew Will well enough, and he should've seen this coming.

"On the way back to camp," Will continued, "I made a stupid choice. If I hadn't, maybe we could've gotten to Knighton sooner. I'm sorry, Allan. You shouldn't have been there alone."

Not wishing that dark hour in the dungeon on _anyone_, let alone any of his friends, Allan replied, "Yeah, I should've." Before Will could say another word, Allan added, "Now, look, that's it, mate. We're done talking about it, yeah? It's over. I'm fine. Djaq'll take care of it. Won't you Djaq?"

Djaq had just joined them, long enough to hear Allan. Marian, Much, and Sir Edward had already ridden out to Robin and the others, leaving John and the three of them.

Djaq met Allan's gaze. "Of course," she said. She said it quickly, confidently, but Allan still caught the brief hesitation. And he wasn't stupid.

Djaq's eyes lingered on his, and Allan offered her a brief nod, silently telling her he understood the truth. But it was a truth no one was willing to say aloud.

"See?" Allan said, turning his attention back to Will. "Nothin' she can't handle."

Will wasn't stupid either, but Nottingham's stable wasn't the place to confront the reality of Allan's injuries. "We'll need a cart," Will said.

"No," Allan replied. "Horse'll work just fine for me, thanks."

"You cannot ride," Djaq pointed out.

Allan snorted. "Course I bloody well can. It's just a few burns." As he'd already considered, this wasn't the time or place for reality. So, dismissing the injuries – the torture – as trivial was the easiest thing to do.

Allan pushed away from the wall, and his legs buckled beneath him. He dropped to his knees and fell flat to his face. But he put out his good arm, catching and bracing his weight. For a moment, he couldn't move. He couldn't even see straight.

"Allan!"

He wasn't sure who called his name, maybe all of them did. Allan shook his head, trying to fight off the black oblivion threatening to consume him.

"I'm fine," he snapped when he felt Djaq's hand on his arm. "Just … give me a minute." He drew in a few deep breaths, attempting to steady the world around him.

"We will find a cart. You cannot ride, Allan," Djaq said.

"Course I can," Allan returned, determined not to give into the exhaustion and pain.

Not yet, anyway.

Bracing himself, Allan stood. He swayed for a moment but managed to keep to his feet. Will and Djaq exchanged a worried look, but Allan ignored them. Instead, he turned to John, who stood near one of the horses. "You should not be riding, Allan."

"Help me up, will you, mate?" Allan said as he dismissed John's comment, acting as though he'd never heard it.

John shook his head but apparently realized the uselessness of arguing. He helped Allan into the saddle. The world spun wildly again, and Allan closed his eyes as he gripped the reins. This was a mistake but before Will, Djaq, or John could point that out, Allan used his good arm to turn the horse toward the exit.

He'd make it. If it was the last thing he did, he'd make it back to Sherwood upright and conscious.

* * *

Many thanks to ... **Jacqueline Roget** ... Thanks so much! Glad you are enjoying! ... **Keiri Bradon** ... Thank you so much, as always! Babies are definitely stressful and time consuming, as you can probably tell from the fact I haven't updated in like 8 months. But, so worth it though. Being a mom is great. I wouldn't trade it for the world :-D ... **gatewatcher** ... Thanks so much, as always! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying! ... **Silver-ShadowSpark **... Thanks so much! Glad you're enjoying! ... **Zelofheda** ... As always, thanks so much for the lovely review! I'm always happy to hear you enjoyed the characterizations. I always worry about staying true to characters! I am definitely short on free time these days, but I truly haven't given up on this story. I'm determined to finish it. Hopefully, this time, now that I've gotten back into it and finally finished another chapter, I can finish it out, since we are nearing the end. Again, thank you so much! ... **Kizume A.W.** ... Thanks so much! So glad to hear you're enjoying! ... **Felineyx** ... Thanks so much! I really appreciate it! ... **Boys Don't Cry** ... As always, thank you for the review! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying the story ... **rosebud23** ... Thanks so much! Glad to hear you're enjoying! Allan is probably my favorite character on the show, and I'm happy to hear I've done his character justice :-D ... **Pepzie** ... Thanks so much! Glad to hear you're enjoying! ... **Niiicko** ... Thanks so much! Glad to hear you're enjoying!

I hope I didn't leave anyone out who reviewed the last chapter. If I did, I apologize. Again, thank you all so much. And truly, I'm sorry this update has been so long in coming. I hate leaving stories unfinished, and I really do hope to have another update soon.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

For the moment, they held the upper hand, but Robin was not fool enough to imagine that couldn't change as fast as it happened. Relaxing – trusting the currently favorable situation – was not a smart idea. In fact, relaxing around the Sheriff and Gisborne while in the heart of Nottingham was never a wise choice. Robin wanted as much distance between the people he cared about and Nottingham as possible, as soon as possible.

Robin kept his sword readied, prepared for anything, any trick, though the Sheriff already ordered his men to drop their weapons. After his command, the Sheriff fell strangely quiet. Without question, the Sheriff was seething, waiting for the very second when he could order his soldiers to hunt the outlaws. And the Sheriff would send men after them, which stood to reason. By that point, however, Robin hoped to be well within the forest, lost to any pursuing soldiers.

Still, it was not so much the Sheriff that drew Robin's attention. Instead, he regarded Gisborne. Gisborne's attention was momentarily diverted from the Sheriff's unfortunate situation, and Robin followed the path of that intense glare to Marian as she, her father, and Much left the stables. Returning his focus to Gisborne, Robin noticed his jaw clench while both his hands curled into fists. The dark, ugly, almost possessive look that swept over his face spoke more than words could, laying bare his hatred and wish to punish Marian.

Gisborne could kill her. To hurt her, to hurt Robin, to hurt all of them, Gisborne could kill her. Maybe he couldn't do it without thought or conscience, but Robin saw that Gisborne was more than capable despite any regret he might feel in the aftermath. He'd been desperate for Marian's affection, obsessed that she want him as much as he needed her. In some twisted way, it might have been love – love according to Gisborne, at least. But Marian told him quite clearly what was in her heart, what had always been in her heart. Not only did she punch him at the altar, but she masqueraded as the Nightwatchman, making a fool of both Gisborne and the Sheriff. She'd been a spy for Robin in their midst, a fact they were now aware of. And today … well, today Marian denied him yet again when Gisborne proposed marriage as a means of escaping death.

"_I will die with Robin. I would rather die a hundred times over by his side than become your wife."_

As Marian approached, Robin held up his free hand as he took a few steps toward her. He wanted distance between Marian and Gisborne. Though David held the Sheriff, instinct rarely failed Robin – instinct that was often the difference between life and death. He listened to his intuition, which saved both him and his friends in the past, and he feared Gisborne might not consider the Sheriff's precarious situation if he got close enough to Marian. Weapon or not, there were other ways to hurt – to kill. And Robin imagined Gisborne knew those ways. Though regardless of whether or not his assumption was correct, Robin didn't care. He wasn't about to take the chance.

"Head for the gate," Robin instructed. Marian nodded, turning her horse toward the gate. Much and Sir Edward followed suit, each leading one rider less horse by the reins in addition to their own for their companions currently without rides.

Meanwhile, Allan emerged from the stable, quickly followed by Will, Djaq, and John. Allan swayed atop his own horse, his complexion ghostly white, but the man kept a firm grip on the reins and looked capable, for the second, at least, of keeping his seat. Whether or not Robin could take that as a sign that perhaps Allan's injuries weren't as severe as they imagined, he didn't know. It might, and probably was, only sheer determination – a staunch unwillingness to give in until the body makes the choice, shutting down when the mind still wants to push forward. Robin had seen it before at ward, but, trying to play the optimist, he preferred to go with his first thought. The injuries – the chance of infection – weren't life threatening, and Allan would be just fine.

Turning his attention back to David and the Sheriff, Robin said, "I think we should take a walk."

David nodded, guiding the Sheriff forward, the blade still positioned securely against his throat. Wat kept to David's back while Robin and Sarah stayed in front of David and the Sheriff, keeping an eye out for anyone foolish enough to play hero on the Sheriff's behalf. Robin doubted anyone was up for the role, but they could not afford to be careless – not now, not when they were minutes away from actually surviving this mess.

* * *

They did not exchange words, other than Robin instructing them to head for the main gate. This was not the time for a happy reunion. This was not yet the time to celebrate their miraculous victory when everything had been stacked against them – when everything indicated that this was the end of the line for Robin Hood.

The other outlaws already enjoyed their brief moment of elation in the stables as they watched David take the Sheriff, but reality settled in once more. And the reality of the situation was that they weren't yet safe in Sherwood.

As they moved toward the main gate, David holding tight to their only bargaining piece, Marian knew Gisborne was watching her. She'd noticed it when she approached Robin and the others. Now she glanced at him and knew a second of trepidation – a second of fear that seized her like that tense moment in the dungeon when she denied his proposal, opting for death by Robin's side. She thought then that he could kill her, run her through without hesitation. Maybe he would regret it, but maybe … maybe there really was nothing left but a man like the Sheriff, one who lacked any conscience at all. She'd witnessed Gisborne's calm detachment during Allan's torture, and she realized that was the only answer she needed, the very reflection of who Gisborne truly was.

Somewhere along the way, Gisborne might have been a better man – could have been a better man. No matter what Robin said, Marian would always believe that, at least. But Gisborne made a choice, and he allowed his quest for power and status to consume everything else. He let it corrupt him to the point where he was no different than the Sheriff. And Marian understood that corruption resulted in a very dangerous man, one that she offended multiple times in a matter of days.

She accepted what Gisborne was capable of and realized the necessity of keeping her distance.

* * *

Gisborne watched Marian but tempered his emotions – his desire to hurt her as she had hurt him. She'd made a mockery of him. All along, her heart belonged to Hood, but she'd toyed with him, made him believe … Marian might have played him for an idiot, but Guy of Gisborne was not a fool. Acting against either her or Hood right now would not end well … at least, it would not end well for the Sheriff.

Contemplating his options, Gisborne realized they were extremely limited. Nothing at all could be done until David of Doncaster released the Sheriff, but that didn't stop Gisborne mentally working on a solution to this disaster – this utter embarrassment that Hood and his men might slip away yet again.

Gisborne's thoughts ended with only one solution – one very unlikely solution but the only feasible one available. He considered the archers stationed on the parapets, a fact Robin might not have considered in the scheme of his rescue attempt. After all, it stood to reason he'd be more concerned about the soldiers on the ground, especially considering the admittedly poor quality of most of the archers the Sheriff employed. None of them possessed half the talent of Robin Hood. Aside from that, the light of day was fading fast, a fact that wasn't likely to help the Sheriff's archers. Still, it was an option – the only credible one Gisborne could come up with considering the situation. As he kept pace with the outlaws, he grimly thought that maybe, just maybe, Luck might favor them this time.

Gisborne and the Sheriff's soldiers stayed with the outlaws though they offered no resistance as they moved toward the main gate with David holding the Sheriff. The Sheriff, for his part, remained uncharacteristically silent. Apparently he was unwilling to test David of Doncaster's patience. The Sheriff didn't know this enemy, not like he knew Hood and Hood's misguided sense of morals.

As they neared the gate, Gisborne slowed his pace, hanging further back as his gaze strayed toward the parapets while Robin told the Sheriff to order the gate open. Discreetly, Gisborne moved toward the stairs. There were enough soldiers before him to hold the outlaws' attention as the gate rose. Once the gate was raised, the outlaws moved quickly toward freedom, but David held fast to the Sheriff, keeping him as an insurance policy until they were further from danger.

As Gisborne expected, Robin was clever enough to have the Sheriff order the gate lowered once he and his companions were on the other side. It was a trick Robin pulled once before when _he_ had held the Sheriff hostage at the edge of a sword. But unlike that previous occasion, Gisborne was prepared. He only hoped there was enough time.

Through the portcullis, the outlaws put some distance between themselves and the castle gate before Gisborne saw David throw the Sheriff away from him and immediately mount the horse nearest him, sitting behind the girl who'd posed as a kitchen maid. At that moment, just as the Sheriff yelled for them to open the gate and follow Hood, Gisborne took the steps two at a time to the parapets.

At the top, Gisborne could already see the outlaws rapidly putting distance between themselves and the castle. Seizing the first archer he came across, Gisborne ordered, "Take down the horse with Hood and Marian." To another archer, he barked, "Aim for on of the other outlaws."

"The horse, Sir Guy?"

"No," Gisborne snapped as the window of opportunity narrowed. "The outlaw."

Without time to wait and see if the archers were successful, Gisborne raced back down the steps. Under the Sheriff's commands from the other side of the slowly rising gate, a small force gathered, making use of what horses were left. Other soldiers would follow on foot, but this last minute cavalry was the first wave of offense. They were the only ones capable of reaching the outlaws in time, especially if the archers failed in which case, Gisborne realized, Hood and the others would be lost to them within the forest.

Shoving one of the soldiers aside, Gisborne took the man's sword and horse. The gate opened, and Gisborne spurred his horse forward, leaving the Sheriff to jump aside at the unexpected charge. Whether or not Gisborne would hear about that later from the Sheriff, he didn't care. His only goal was reaching Hood before the man slipped through their grasp yet again – a goal which suddenly became far more likely.

Gisborne watched with satisfaction as the archers' arrows fell true to their marks. Hood's horse stumbled and nearly rolled, throwing him and Marian. Meanwhile, another outlaw lost his grip on the reins and tumbled to the earth, an arrow protruding from his back.

**

* * *

**

**A/N**: And cue fight scene … Unfortunately, I hate writing fight scenes. Action is not one of my stronger points. *Sigh* Well, as always, I hope you enjoyed, and hopefully the next update will be very soon.

Many thanks to … **rosebud23** … Thanks so much, I really appreciate it! I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying … **gatewatcher** … As always, thank you! I think Djaq definitely has something up her sleeve to help Allan. Ultimately, its up to him to fight, but I think Allan's definitely a fighter :-D … **zelofheda-B** … Thanks so much! I'm glad to hear you liked David's conflict. And I know I've portrayed him as an out and out villain in this, but I actually like Gisborne very much as well. He's a great character, despite the tragic end of the second season … **Keiri Bradon** … As always, thank you so much, it is greatly appreciated! I'm glad you liked David's conflict; I really enjoyed writing that part for some reason. And hey, check it out, this update didn't take as long :-D Hopefully the rest will come as quickly, and I can finish this before this story is two years old, which is in about four months … **Capt. Cow** … As always, thank you so much! I really appreciate it. I've been a bit melodramatic, I think, with Allan, but I can't help it. I like melodrama sometimes. And you might need chocolate ice cream, but just cuz it's yummy :-D … **knacky** … Thanks so much! I'm so happy to hear you're enjoying!

Thank you all so much again!


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

At Nottingham's gate, Robin had taken the saddle behind Marian, letting her take the reins. And considering the well aimed arrow through the horse's flank, Robin was glad for their positions. He felt the horse jolt and realized it was going to throw them an instant before it happened.

Robin tightened his arms around Marian and twisted his body as they fell, trying to soften Marian's landing with his own body, shielding hers from direct impact with the ground. He succeeded, taking the brunt of the fall. Pain exploded through his back, the air forced out of his lungs.

Though stunned and badly bruised, Robin hardly had more than a second to register the fall and accompanying pain before the injured and disoriented horse nearly crushed his head. He dodged out of the way, dragging Marian with him. Then, the horse righted itself, darting for the forest.

Helping Marian to her feet, Robin cupped her face with his hands. "Marian? Are you all right?"

Marian blinked, shaking her head, her eyes finally focusing on Robin. "Yes … my hand caught in the reins, my wrist …" She still sounded dazed.

Robin took her hand, his fingers gently probing her wrist. It was swollen already, but nothing felt broken, though Marian would need Djaq to look at her wrist to be certain.

Pulling her hand away, Marian said, "I'm fine, honestly." Her voice sounded stronger now as if she were finally coming to her senses after the fall. "Are you all right?"

Before Robin could reply, they both heard the undeniable sound of hooves. Turning toward Nottingham, Robin saw the Sheriff's guard charge through the gate, pursuing them. "I'll be better once we're in the forest."

Sir Edward and John already reined in their horses, backtracking to gather Robin and Marian as escaping on foot wouldn't be the wisest decision at the moment. With horses though, they still had enough distance. If they hurried, they could still outrun the Sheriff's men, disappearing into the forest, making it impossible, as they had so many times before, for the soldiers to track them.

Then, Djaq cried out, drawing Robin's immediate attention. It sounded like "Much" but Robin couldn't be sure until he saw his friend slip from the saddle, crashing to the earth, rolling.

"Much!" Robin yelled, running with Marian, he knew, close behind.

The distance between Robin and Much was not that great, but, in the space of ten seconds, a million thoughts rushed through Robin's mind as he stared at the arrow in Much's back. Though Much struggled back to his knees, bracing one hand on the ground, that meant nothing. A fatal wound didn't necessarily have to be fatal instantly. Robin knew that all too well.

At first, he couldn't tell exactly where the arrow pierced, and he imagined the worst. Dread, not unlike what he'd known when he thought Marian dead, gripped him.

Much was his friend, his brother. They'd been to hell and back, together. He never asked Much to take the cross with him and follow King Richard to the Holy Land, but he did. After giving Much his freedom when they returned to England, Robin never expected him to take the path of an outlaw, but he did. Of everything and everyone in his life, Much was the one constant, with Robin no matter the cost and in it until the end. Much would always be there, like he'd always been there.

And Robin took it for granted. He realized that now and hated that it was true. Much's love and loyalty, he'd always taken it for granted, even in the Holy Land … even before the Holy Land.

Djaq reached Much before Robin, and she was on her knees beside him, assessing the damage with the quick, trained eye of a physician.

"It is through the shoulder!" Djaq announced as much to Robin as to the others.

"Well, I know that," Much said. "I _can_ feel it." He hesitated, looking up, his gaze moving between Robin and Djaq. "Is it bad?"

"No," Djaq said. "The arrowhead passed clean through. It is a narrow tip, made for distance. It does not do as much damage. Still, I do not want to take it out now, not here. Can you manage until we get back to camp, Much?"

Much nodded, and Robin rested his hand on Much's uninjured shoulder. "You've had far worse, my friend." His grip tightened on Much's shoulder, emphasizing those last words.

"I'd call _this_ far worse!" David snapped, pulling Robin's attention away from Much and back to the situation at hand.

The archers had succeeded in delaying the outlaws escape, leaving time for the Sheriff's men to gain ground, rapidly closing the distance. Still, they had time – not much, but enough to lose them in the forest if they moved fast.

Robin helped Much to his feet, determined to still outrun the Sheriff's men. They were injured and battered, some worse than others, of course like Much and Allan, especially. Avoiding battle was the wisest choice, but before he could give the orders to take cover in the forest, David unceremoniously dumped Sarah from his horse and rushed toward the incoming soldiers, apparently assuming Robin intended to stand and fight. Wat followed, taking David's lead.

Watching the two men charge forward, Robin cursed. Any thought of running was gone. David effectively eliminated that option, and Robin would never leave anyone behind.

There weren't many horsemen – not _too_ many more, at least, than the other day at the cave when the doctor betrayed them and Robin thought Marian dead. Of course, this was only the preliminary charge. Soldiers on foot were already pouring out the main gate, intent on joining Gisborne's ranks. But they had time before the infantry posed a threat, which, for the moment, left the cavalry bearing down on them as the immediate threat. It wasn't the most daunting odds they'd ever faced.

His assessment of the situation lasted not longer than a second, but it was strange how, occasionally, time seemed to slow, especially in moments like these – those sparse seconds leading to battle, before two opponents clashed as one.

Thankful they'd snuck a variety of weapons into Nottingham, Robin retrieved his bow and arrows from Djaq, who had concealed them, along with her own weapons, beneath her cloak.

Up ahead, David and Gisborne collided, but Robin focused on the other soldiers, believing David capable of handling Gisborne. With bow and arrow, Robin aimed and shot, again and again. He never thought about it; he didn't have to, not now, not when this felt as natural as breathing. But he would think about it later – he would think about the precision with which he killed each soldier, and it would haunt him, as it always did.

* * *

Will's horse reared as he yanked on the reins, jerking the horse around as he saw Robin and Marian fall. Marian's hand caught in the rein, wrenching the horse's head around before her hand pulled free. The injured horse bounded back in their direction, obviously disoriented. Robin rolled out of the way, pulling Marian with him as both narrowly avoided being trampled before the skittish horse turned again and bounded into the forest.

The sound of thundering hooves caught Will's attention, and he glanced over his shoulder only to realize the Sheriff and Gisborne weren't going to give up so easily. But it wasn't the sight of the pursuing soldiers that made his blood run cold. He heard Djaq cry out, and his breath caught, his chest tightening with a sickening sense of dread.

_No!_

He turned but saw Djaq unhurt. Relief rushed over him until he realized why she had cried out.

Much slipped, falling from the saddle. He hit the ground, but his horse continued galloping, apparently unconcerned it no longer had a rider.

Then Will saw the arrow.

"Much!" Robin yelled, racing toward his fallen friend with Marian close behind.

Djaq already dismounted her horse and was beside Much before Robin reached them.

"It is through his shoulder!" Will heard the relief in Djaq's voice. Thankfully, the archer didn't possess Robin's accuracy. Will suspected the arrow had been meant to kill.

Will didn't hear what words passed between Djaq, Much, and Robin, but he heard David snap, "I'd call _this_ far worse!" And he was right. The archers had done what they needed to by stalling the outlaws escape into the forest. The Sheriff's men closed the distance with Gisborne, looking possessed, leading the charge.

They could still run, and Will wondered if that's what Robin intended to tell them when David dropped Sarah off the horse and took matters into his own hands by spurring his horse forward, racing toward the soldiers and followed quickly by Wat.

Robin took his bow from Djaq, his action clearly telling them what he intended without words. Besides, words didn't matter. The outlaws had fought together for so long they knew what was necessary without much communication.

Meanwhile, Allan pulled his horse alongside Will's. "Mind if I borrow the sword, mate? Seems I left mine in the stables, not figuring on a fight. You're better with the axes anyway."

If he wasn't aware of Allan's injuries, Will would've thought his friend drunk. Allan swayed, his eyes looked glassy, and his skin had faded to a deathly shade of white. Even his speech sounded a little slurred. He didn't know what sheer force of will held Allan upright in the saddle, but Allan, of all of them, needed to take cover in the forest. In his condition, he'd get himself killed.

"Allan, you need to run. _Now_," Will emphasized.

"Not bein' funny, but there's soldiers and no time. I'm staying, with or without." He paused. "_With_ the sword'd be better."

"Your shoulder," Will pointed out. "You can't ride and fight, Allan."

"Lucky I'm fighting on foot today then," Allan replied, dismounting from his horse. He landed awkwardly and took a moment to balance himself. "Look, Will, no time, right? Weapon would be nice about now. You're needed on the front line, what with the ride and all," he added, glancing pointedly at David and Wat who were now joined by John and even Sir Edward while Robin brought men down with arrow after arrow.

And there it was. Nothing left to argue. If Allan wasn't already dying, Will was likely sending him to his death in his condition. But he handed the sword over. He was staying whether Will agreed or not, and at least Allan stood a better chance _with_ a weapon.

"Stay with Robin, at least," Will advised, hoping Allan would listen to that if nothing else.

* * *

David of Doncaster and Guy of Gisborne collided, swords clashing, metal against metal with a force that unseated both men. When he hit the ground, pain ripped through David's bad shoulder, courtesy of the jousting injury given to him by Gisborne all those years before. For a moment, it nearly crippled him as he lay there, staring at the sky above, aware that he needed to move but unable to.

He drew in a few deep breaths and gritted his teeth against the agony. Ignoring it was the only way – giving into it would get him killed. Stumbling to his feet, David retrieved his fallen sword, searching for Gisborne, expecting Gisborne to strike. But as the battle waged around him, many of Gisborne's men unhorsed and fighting the outlaws on foot, David saw Gisborne had little interest in him.

Before he could wonder at Gisborne's target or pursue his adversary from so long ago, another soldier engaged David. He brought his sword up, defending the blow. Parrying his attacker's swings, David found the opportunity to disarm his opponent, driving his blade through the man's gut. Accustomed to death, David never spared the fresh corpse another thought before moving on to the next soldier.

* * *

Soldiers surrounded them, and Marian noticed Robin was finally forced to abandon his bow, drawing a sword to fend off two men at once. That was the last time Marian chanced a look at him, her full attention now on the soldier before her. The man's strength and apparent desire to simply overpower her kept Marian on the defensive. That, and Marian couldn't afford to be careless. She had to wait for the opportunity. Her body ached from the fall, her injured wrist throbbed, and the stitched wound on her stomach pained her, stealing her breath as the stitches pulled each time she raised her sword to parry a blow.

The soldier continued to hack at her, driving her back, further from the others and toward the forest. And she let him, waiting for the opportunity. She deflected his attacks, finally dodging out of the way as the soldier lunged forward, intent on running her through. He stumbled and turned toward her, off balance. It was only a second, but that second was long enough for Marian to instinctively strike the fatal blow, her sword coming up, and the blade slicing across the man's throat.

Blood spurted from the gash, and the unknown man's eyes met hers as he collapsed. Marian stumbled back, her sword falling from her hand as she stared wide eyed at the dead man at her feet. Her heart thudded in her chest, her stomach churned, and she thought she might be sick. Strange, how it should affect her like this. She understood it was her life or the soldier's life, and still it shook her. Still, she saw a man before her – a man who was only following orders, simply making a living for himself and his family, like so many of the other men the Sheriff employed – men who weren't truly evil, not like the Sheriff or Prince John or the others who plotted against King Richard. Some of the Sheriff's guard were depraved men, of course, but others … others were merely following orders.

Marian didn't know which side this soldier belonged, whether or not he was actually corrupt or eking out a meager existence, surviving the only way he could or knew how. But she realized it didn't matter. She had still killed him, and she would have to live with it, like Robin did. And this, she knew, was part of the reason Robin tried so hard to avoid killing – because it was a burden no matter the justification.

"_Marian_!"

Marian started, the awful trance broken. Robin's voice dragged her back to reality – a reality where Gisborne stood before her.

* * *

Gisborne watched the thickset soldier, at least twice Marian's size, inexpertly hack away at her, trying to overwhelm her, driving her away from Hood and the others, leaving her quite alone amidst the battle. He was aware that his men were falling quickly, their numbers dwindling. But there was yet enough men, hopefully enough to hold the outlaws here until reinforcements arrived. And the soldiers he still had alive and fighting were enough to keep the outlaws occupied – to keep Marian isolated and to keep his path to her clear.

Gisborne wasn't far from her when he saw Marian finally deal the fatal blow to the nameless soldier – just another idiot in the Sheriff's employ, easily replaceable. She dropped her weapon, horror transfixing her as she stared down at the dead man.

If she'd ever killed before, Gisborne didn't know. But it was obvious that, even if she had, the realization that she'd taken a man's life overwhelmed her – the burden of being weighed by morals, by compassion … by a bleeding heart for the so called value of an individual's life.

Gisborne approached Marian when Hood shouted her name, seeing what Marian did not. It brought her back to her senses, and she turned to find him standing before her. He could have killed, right then. No one could've stopped him; _she_ could not have stopped him. And he wanted to, the impulse nearly overpowering him. But Gisborne held back, checking his desire to hurt her, to take her life, to repay her betrayal. Right now, this was nothing to do with Robin Hood and everything to do with Lady Marian, the woman who'd deceived him and manipulated him, using his affections – his desperate attempts to be the man she wanted him to be – to play Robin Hood's spy and masquerade as the Night Watchman, making a mockery of him and everything he felt for her … everything he _still_ felt.

But he wouldn't kill her, not like this.

"Pick it up," Gisborne said with his eyes on Marian's fallen weapon.

It was strange, really, that after everything she still inspired some sympathy, however little. If that were Hood or any of the other outlaws, Gisborne never would have held back.

Marian hesitated, her gaze on him.

"_Now_!"

Quickly, she retrieved her sword, holding it ready, studying him warily. Gisborne at least gave her credit for keeping silent – biting back her lies, her pretty words – the words she'd used so many times to make a fool of him. Today, that was the first time she'd spoken to him honestly, and it was the last time he wanted to hear her speak.

They circled each other, and Gisborne knew Marian was waiting for him to make the first move. Realizing his time with her alone was short – that Hood would be doing anything and everything to reach Marian – Gisborne obliged, taking the first strike, testing how adept she really was with a sword.

She was far more skilled than he imagined, blocking his offense, proving she had at least some training. She ducked, side-stepped, and evaded with a certain amount of precision, showing an awareness of her surroundings and an understanding of his technique that only previous experience could teach. Marian deflected every blow, every swing that would have sent her to the grave.

But Marian was not an expert. She was not Hood or any of the other outlaws for that matter.

Ultimately, she was not a match for Gisborne.

Gisborne noted the strain as Marian struggled to keep up with him, to keep defending as he drove harder, determined now to see this done before he could think anymore about it or consider anything beyond his need to hurt her as she'd hurt him. This was the only way he could take revenge, by destroying her … by watching her die, impaled by the blade of his sword.

Gisborne recognized the increased desperation in Marian's weakening defense, and desperate people committed careless mistakes – fatal mistakes. Marian was no exception. One misstep left her vulnerable, and Gisborne grabbed the opportunity. He engaged, striking the hit that disarmed her, leaving her helpless, facing him alone … facing death alone.

She never begged for her life but stood before him like the martyr he was prepared to make her. But as her eyes met his, Gisborne hesitated. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, but he never delivered the fatal blow. Movement to his left distracted him, and, too late, he spun to defend himself.

Hood caught him off guard. Gisborne felt the blade pierce his flesh, whipping across his chest. If he hadn't jumped back, the wound likely would have been his death. But though he evaded the brunt of Hood's sword, just barely, he still fell back. From the ground, he glared up at Hood. The tip of Hood's blade pressed against his throat.

* * *

He wanted to impale the bastard, but Robin held back. Reinforcements were closing in faster than he expected. If more soldiers arrived before they warded off this attack, Robin knew they were finished.

Allan had already collapsed, defended now by Much and Djaq and, to a lesser extent, Sarah. Much didn't fare a whole lot better with his own injury hindering him. The others – John, Will, Edward, David, and Wat – continued fighting further out, but there were still too many of the Sheriff's men left. They'd never finish them off before more soldiers arrived.

_That_ was the only reason Gisborne was still alive.

"Tell your men to stand down."

"No."

Robin dug the blade deeper, drawing blood. "I will kill you."

"You'll kill me anyway."

"Call them off, and you will live." Robin paused. "For now."

Gisborne hesitated but finally yelled for his men to fall back.

It took them longer than Robin would have liked, but the soldiers finally abandoned the fight, retreating as Gisborne ordered. With his friends safe from harm, Robin again battled the urge to run Gisborne through. It would have been simple enough. The man was at his mercy, but he promised Gisborne his life, and Robin kept his word.

"Get up," Robin demanded. Slowly, Gisborne complied.

"This isn't over, Hood."

Lowering his weapon, Robin replied, "It never is." Then, he swung at Gisborne, punching him in the face. He felt Gisborne's nose crack beneath his fist. It hurt like hell, and Robin suspected he might have crushed a knuckle or two, but it was worth it as he watched Gisborne collapse.

Robin promised Gisborne he'd live. He never promised not to hurt him.

**

* * *

A/N:** Whew! Ok, I am REALLY happy that chapter is over. I think I rewrote this about a dozen times before I at least felt sort of ok with it. Anyway, I might be wrong, but I don't remember Marian ever killing anyone, especially by the end of the first season. That's why I had her react the way she did. I get that it's her life or the soldier's life, but I imagine it would still shake her.

Many thanks to … **gatewatcher** … Thanks so much! I'm glad to hear the thought process worked out – especially that it stayed in character :-D Thanks again! … **Keiri Bradon** … As always, thank you! LOL, yes, I like cliffhangers. I'm evil like that :-D I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the Robin/Marian/Guy reflection. Thanks again! … **Kizume A.W.** … Hmm, yeah, I can definitely agree with "sexy cad" for Gisborne. LOL. Thanks so much! I am glad you liked the three part thought process there … **rosebud23** … Thanks so much for the review! I really wanted to update sooner, but I just had a heck of time writing this chapter … **Capt. Cow** … As always, thank you bunches! I think I might need some ice cream while I write this! I'm hurting everyone :-( I don't mean to. It sort of just happens. I just go where the writing takes me, LOL. I really did want them to be home free after the last chapter, but I couldn't resist a bit of a fight, which is odd since I hate writing action. *Sigh* I think I just like making things more complicated for myself. Anyway, thanks again! … **magical-archer** … Thanks so much! I'm so glad to hear that you're enjoying!


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Under Gisborne's orders, the soldiers fell back. Each of them understood the consequences of this defeat, though Gisborne would bear most of the Sheriff's displeasure, as he always did. Of course, the Sheriff's anger translated into Gisborne's anger, and Gisborne was far too capable of making lives miserable.

One soldier, in particular, watched the exchange between Robin Hood and Sir Guy of Gisborne – watched as the outlaw knocked Gisborne out. Considering Gisborne's none to endearing personality, the soldier, Arthur de Lacy, might have found it amusing. But Arthur de Lacy had stood guard at the gates to Nottingham when the mysterious mercenary calling himself David of Doncaster delivered Robin Hood, bound and unconscious – obviously, Arthur realized now, a clever plan to infiltrate the castle. Then, Arthur had allowed the older man, claiming to be a servant of Lord Hastings, pass with a wagon full of ale – ale which was, in fact, drugged. And he also suspected not all the barrels had contained ale. That must have been how the other outlaws snuck inside Nottingham.

Now, the Sheriff might not concern himself with the names and faces and positions of his soldiers, but Gisborne did. Gisborne viewed them all as worthless, replaceable things, just like the Sheriff. But Gisborne knew names and faces and positions. Of that Arthur was certain. Gisborne would remember that he, Arthur, had stood guard at the gate. And when the Sheriff's rage turned to Gisborne, as it inevitably would, Gisborne would then take his own anger, his own frustration, out on the soldiers – especially on the ones he could find most likely to blame for the enormity of this failure.

Arthur believed he would be one of those soldiers – one of the men used as an example. And he wondered whether or not it was worth suffering the consequences.

In the end, he decided it wasn't.

While the outlaws fled into the forest, Arthur departed the recent battlefield, disappearing like Robin Hood and his friends without even a backward glance. No one spared him so much as a word. Some men scrambled to Gisborne's side. Others sorted through the fallen soldiers, searching for survivors and confirming the identities of the dead.

As he passed, Arthur recognized some of the soldiers while others he did not. Still, it didn't matter whether or not he was acquainted with the faces he saw. In this moment, their thoughts were identical. Arthur knew that each and every one of them wracked their brains, trying to think of a way to avoid Gisborne's wrath, to avoid punishment, and to deflect blame on others. In defeat, every soldier attempted to slink beneath Gisborne's detection, throwing fault on others if necessary. Arthur knew this because he'd done it himself so many times before.

But he wouldn't do it this time. This time, he'd find another means to survive, another way to keep food in his belly and a roof over his head. It wouldn't be easy. It never was. Yet he confronted the uncertainty of tomorrow with less trepidation than he would have the consequences of this failure.

* * *

Only a few short hours ago, Djaq never imagined she'd see the forest again, but relief over their triumph was fleeting. And Djaq realized it wasn't even truly a victory, not yet. If Allan died … she pushed the thought from her mind, the sense of foreboding as she glanced at Allan, unconscious and now draped over the back of a horse being led by John.

Allan had done what he could, forcing his body to respond beyond all reason. But adrenaline and sheer determined will only lasted so long. Both of those had abandoned Allan. Before they lifted him onto the horse, Djaq feared what she saw. She recognized the pallor of pain and exhaustion – that sickly, unnatural whiteness that stole over a person's face – the shade of death. She had seen it so often before. She had seen it only the other day, except … Marian had survived.

And Djaq clung to that despite knowing Marian and Allan were not in the same situation. Marian had been stabbed; Allan had been injured with red hot irons, leaving burn wounds along his chest and stomach. He wasn't dying, not yet, anyway. But the skin was damaged, reminding Djaq of a fire victim. It wasn't a matter of _if_ the wounds would become infected. It was a matter of when and how severely. She couldn't just stitch up his injuries. This was entirely different from a stab wound.

Djaq ignored the turn of her thoughts, refusing to think about what might happen. In battle, they turned to Robin to lead. But this battle belonged to Djaq, and dwelling on the potentially devastating outcome would hinder her. She forced everything else aside, thinking only of the things she would need – water, plants, bandages. Silently, methodically, she went over it, like a checklist, detaching herself from the enormity of the situation that confronted her.

They arrived back at camp, greeted by Tuck. Djaq had nearly forgotten about the older man, who had played his role and departed Nottingham long before the fighting broke out, returning to Sherwood with a chest of gold – the bounty the Sheriff placed on Robin's head.

So Sarah, David, Wat, and Tuck had their compensation, their means to a new life. Djaq expected them to count their treasure and depart without another thought or backward glance. She never expected David to help John carefully lower Allan from the horse or Sarah to ask how they could help.

They all looked to Djaq. She was the leader in this arena, and she took that responsibility to heart … she took Allan's life on her shoulders. If he didn't survive, Djaq would never think about how the Sheriff and Gisborne tortured him. She wouldn't question how things might have worked out differently if they hadn't been ambushed by David and the others. She wouldn't fault Marian for choosing to stay at Knighton in the first place.

Djaq would blame herself.

Despite understanding the irrationality of it and despite realizing there was more to this fight than her knowledge of medicines and injuries, she would look at Allan – she would look at herself – and know she failed.

But she couldn't think about that, not now. Instead, Djaq issued instructions, showing a steady confidence she didn't, at the moment, necessarily feel. It wasn't because she doubted her competence, because she didn't. But some things went well beyond skill, and, in her heart, she feared Allan had become one of those things.

* * *

Marian picked the plants Djaq described, stuffing them into a bag on the ground beside her. Robin tried to keep her at camp, telling her to rest, but resting was the furthest thing from her mind. She needed to stay busy, to keep moving though every movement felt automatic. It was as if she weren't living and breathing but only a shell, numb and hollow. But if she stopped working, her thoughts would catch up with her, and she didn't want to think. She didn't want to consider the man she'd killed, and she didn't want to recall Allan's torture – every excruciating moment which was etched forever, she was certain, into her memory. She didn't want to accept the fact that Allan would likely die, and it was her fault. No matter what Robin or anyone said, she blamed herself. Yes, of course, she hadn't been the one to torture Allan. But she was the reason he'd been in the dungeon. She was the reason the Sheriff and Gisborne had the opportunity to hurt him.

After everything, she felt tired and weak. Her stomach throbbed, her injury aggravated. Despite that, Marian continued to rip the plants out by their roots, shoving them into the bag though the bag was nearly full – though she had already done more than Djaq required. But she didn't want to stop, not yet. Absorbed by the mechanical, almost comforting, motion of picking and stuffing the plants into her bag, Marian started, almost shocked by the contact, when someone crouched next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Though, when she glanced over her shoulder, she wasn't surprised to see Robin. He had reluctantly let her leave camp with Sarah. Not unfamiliar with arrow injuries, Robin remained at camp, tending to Much with Djaq's advice, leaving Djaq to focus most of her attention on Allan.

"Marian," he said, "you should rest."

"How is Much?" Marian returned, evading the suggestion with a question.

"He decided to cook, saying everyone will need it. I did not have the heart to tell him no one really wants to eat. So Much is fine. He is in pain, but well enough."

Marian nodded, silently accepting the blame for Much's pain as much as Allan's. But at least Much would live.

"Djaq should look at your wrist and check your stitches," Robin said, directing the conversation back to her.

"No," Marian replied, annoyed by the concern she heard in his voice. _Why_ should he worry about her now?

"Marian - "

Flinging his hand away, Marian jumped to her feet, turning on Robin. She didn't want his concern, his sympathy, or his comfort. In her heart, she didn't believe she deserved it, not when she was the cause of all of this. "Maybe you forgot, but Djaq is a little busy at the moment. I hardly think she needs to be bothered by such trifling wounds."

"Trifling," Robin repeated. "You nearly died."

"Well, I am _not_ nearly dying today," Marian snapped. "Allan is. Save your concern for him, not me, Robin." She dropped back to the plants, yanking them out with a renewed ferocity.

"Marian, stop." Robin paused. "You have collected more than enough."

Taking the full bag, Marian stood again and shoved the bag into Robin's chest. "Good. Then you can return it to Djaq, and I will collect more." Once more, she turned her attention back to the plants.

"Djaq does not need anymore."

"She might," Marian returned. "And it would be better to have more than not enough." Intently, she focused on her task, blocking everything else out. She barely heard Robin instruct Sarah to return to camp with the plants they had already gathered. But then, Robin hauled her up from the ground, forcing her to face him, his hands securely around her upper arms.

"Marian, _stop_," Robin said.

She tried to shrug out of his grasp, but his hold was firm. He kept her standing and facing him. "I am _not_ troubling Djaq. I am _not_ relaxing. I will not sit about while everyone else works."

"All right, fine," Robin returned, though Marian could tell he wanted to argue. "But unless you plan to pick the whole of Sherwood Forest clean of leaves and grass, we are done here. If you want to help, we can go back to camp."

But Marian didn't want to return to camp, especially because she knew Robin was lying simply to make her go back. There was nothing for her to do there that wasn't already being done. At least here she could do something instead of standing around helplessly, watching Djaq tend Allan's possibly fatal wounds – wounds _she_ caused.

Marian shook her head. "Djaq might need more."

"She doesn't."

"How do you know?" Marian snapped, angry that he was trying to drag her back to camp and upset that he didn't understand why she couldn't go back, not yet. "Are you a physician now?"

She felt his hands tighten around her arms. "Stop this, Marian. You cannot keep pushing yourself."

"Do not tell me what to do."

"Someone has to," Robin returned, his irritation evident. "You are being ridiculous. You are still recovering from a wound that nearly killed you."

"I am _fine_."

Robin studied her silently for a moment. "What is this about?" he finally asked, though Marian suspected he already knew the answer. "You are in pain, and you are exhausted. I see it in your face."

Marian sighed, briefly closing her eyes. She didn't want to argue. That route would get them nowhere; it never did. "Robin," she began, "I am not dying. So just let me be … please." She paused. "There are other people you should worry about now, not me."

"I have enough to go around," Robin replied. "Trust me."

"And I know better than you what I am capable of. I do not need your concern, and I do not need you telling me what I should and should not do."

Again, he remained silent, watching her. Then, he said, "Unless you plan to run away, you will return to camp eventually. Whether you do it now or later makes no difference."

Irrational anger bubbled up inside of her. Marian wanted to shout at him until he understood – until he quit acting like this wasn't her fault. She didn't want anything from him right now because, somehow, it only made her feel worse. Robin knew what would happen if she stayed at Knighton. He told her as much the night before.

Glancing away, Marian said, "Do you remember what you said to me? You told me that I would be putting your men in danger when you had to come rescue me." She hesitated. "How can you pretend this isn't my fault? I _did_ endanger them. One of them will probably die because of me."

"Marian …" For a moment, Robin looked at a loss, which was unusual. Robin always knew what to say, though Marian guessed she surprised him by recalling his words – words he had spoken out of frustration, unable to imagine how very true they would become. Yet he recovered from the momentary lapse quickly and continued, "If you want me to blame you for Allan, I won't. I was angry when I said that, but it does not mean … it would _never_ mean that I would hold you responsible for this. You must know that." He brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn't even known had fallen.

"I will always blame myself."

"You cannot," Robin said. "You cannot blame yourself for the cruelties of other men. The Sheriff did this to Allan, not you. If you carry the weight of another person's sins, it will haunt you forever." He paused. "Do not become me."

Startled by that admittance – a confession that Marian was certain Robin would view as a weakness – Marian met his eyes. She waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. But then, she realized she never really expected him to. It was enough he had said that much, and Marian imagined he referred to things he had seen in the Holy Land as much as the atrocities the Sheriff inflicted upon the people of Nottingham … things he himself hadn't actually committed but still somehow held himself accountable for. She understood that he would never really tell her about the five years of his life he spent at war. But though she appreciated what he said, it didn't ease her guilt.

"I wish it were that simple," Marian finally said. "I wish it were easy enough to tell myself the Sheriff is to blame. But _I_ was the reason Allan was there. And if you cannot forget the crimes you've seen – the ones you blame yourself for – how do you expect me to?" They were, after all, different in some ways but so very similar in others.

He didn't answer immediately, and Marian guessed he realized there was no answer to that. No matter what he said, he couldn't change how she felt. Though, after a moment, he replied, "Just know that I will never blame you. No one will."

Marian nodded but said nothing. She knew the guilt would haunt her, but she couldn't hide from it. She would have to return to camp eventually, and Robin was right. Whether she did it now or later made no difference.

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** I definitely plan on a lighter scene for Robin and Marian before this story is finished. It just didn't seem very appropriate at the moment.

Many thanks to … **scully42** … I'm so happy to hear you're still reading! I don't blame you for being upset with the show. Mentally challenged doesn't begin to describe it as far as I'm concerned. Robin and Marian are supposed to live happily ever after. That's the legend, that's the way it's supposed to be. Thanks so much again. I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying … **rosebud23** … Thanks so much! I hate writing action, honestly. I think that's why I went with so many POVs. I just felt I couldn't write it from only one or two perspectives. I'm glad to hear it worked out. Thanks again! … **MontyPythonFan **… Thanks so much! And yes, I do think Gisborne deserved a good punch! :-D Thanks again! … **Lady Chekov** … Thanks so much! I'm glad you like my Allan writing. I find him a difficult character to write for, and I'm always happy to hear I've done him justice! Much is a wonderful character. Obviously, this story doesn't have a great deal of Much, but I really would like to get into his character more if I end up writing sequels to this story. Thanks so much again! … **Capt. Cow** … Thanks so much! I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the action. Honestly, I hate writing it. And, yes, it's true, I shot Much :-( But he'll be fine, I promise :-D Thanks so much again! … **Rivan Warrioress** … Thanks so much! I'm glad to hear you're enjoying. And I'm happy to hear I've done justice to the bonds between the characters. There are great relationships on the show, and I'm glad to hear I've been able to show that in writing. Thanks so much again! … **BigBadWolfyBoy** … Thanks so much! I really appreciate it. I love reading action/adventure, but it is terribly difficult to write. It is definitely trial and error, which means rewrites galore. I'll never be comfortable writing it, but I guess, as with anything, practice can only make it better. Again, thank you so much!


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Djaq would have preferred to fetch the ingredients for the salve herself, but she refused to leave Allan, trusting that the others could recall her detailed descriptions of different plants. She had been so specific, in fact, that Sarah glared at her, leaving Djaq to imagine Sarah desperately wanted to snap, "I'm not daft. I know the difference between three leaves and four." Wisely, however, Sarah kept her mouth shut. Now was not the time for arguments, though the current of tension, the result of waiting for Allan's fate, was nearly palpable. In this atmosphere, thick with apprehension, quarreling would be too easy. That was why Djaq suspected there was very little talking. Even Much curbed his complaints regarding his arrow wound.

After explaining to the others what she required for Allan and briefly advising Robin on Much's injury – an injury she was confident Robin could handle – Djaq stood before Allan's prone form. Only minutes earlier, she accepted responsibility for his life, knowing what was necessary. She was a doctor, not a friend. For now, that was the way it had to be. And Djaq thought she was prepared. She thought she'd set everything else aside, but nothing could stop the rush of emotion that flooded her as she stared at Allan.

As Djaq already acknowledged upon their return to camp, Allan was not yet dying. But her training and experience taught her the inevitable infection would consume him. His fever would rage. His body might well shut down, and, if that happened, nothing she knew could save him. But perhaps it would not come to that. Perhaps it would only be a high fever. She could not say, but mustering any genuine optimism was difficult. Still, the comprehension of how horrible this might become for Allan, for her, and for all of them was there. And it hit Djaq – _truly_ hit her – in that second. The enormity of it was crushing and that was probably the reason she realized things she never took the time to consider before.

She loved Allan.

No, it was not the kind of love – only recently realized and not yet fully accepted – that she felt for Will. Nor was this the kind of affection she had for the other outlaws, though, until now, Djaq always assumed it was.

It was strange, really. Allan was nothing like her brother, the man whose name and identity she assumed, burying Saffiya with her brother's body in the desert sands of her country. Allan and Djaq, the _real_ Djaq, were distinct opposites in every sense of the word. Naturally, part of it was upbringing – different cultures, different religions, and different lifestyles all together. Yet Djaq imagined that even if their backgrounds had been identical, Allan and her brother would never have been alike, not even a little. But despite the differences, Djaq found she and Allan shared a similar relationship to that of Djaq and her brother. At least, the basic principle of that relationship was the same – the bond between siblings.

The realization left Djaq wondering when exactly she started viewing Allan in such a way, confused by this sudden revelation. But then, honestly, _when_ it happened was irrelevant. The important point was that it caught her by surprise. She hadn't realized it until now, leaving her to question just how very much of herself she had buried. Saffiya would have recognized such a growing attachment long ago while Djaq was not as perceptive, mostly because Djaq spent little time analyzing her emotions. Such things never helped her in the past, and they were unlikely to help her now, living with five male outlaws in the depths of Sherwood Forest.

Though Djaq was no longer the type of woman who worried over her feelings, she took a minute to consider this. When she looked upon Allan, she saw her brother … she felt as if she were losing her brother again. Like her affection for Will, Djaq understood she must have known it all along but simply ignored it, not willing to think about things that might leave her vulnerable. She'd spent so long behind her brother's identity, resembling him in far more than name and appearance. But it was the way it had to be. In her homeland, she witnessed atrocities too terrible for words. Everyone found ways of coping, and hers had been to adopt her brother's identity. Robin and Much understood the horrors of war, but they understood it from the perspective of the Crusaders. She understood it from an entirely different perspective, and it was the reason she became the person she was now.

Still, despite her forced ignorance regarding her emotions – her apparently perfected ability to conceal the truth from herself – those feelings existed just the same. And though it went against the nature of the person she'd become – the person she needed to be – Djaq decided she owed it to Allan to recognize those feelings. Whether he would ever know didn't matter.

Aside from that, Djaq needed this moment. She needed to understand and accept what she felt now and then push it aside, like so many other things. Djaq could not allow it to surface later. It might interfere when Allan needed a doctor, not a friend.

Djaq must have stood silently regarding Allan for longer than she thought. Tuck had already heated water over the campfire and brought her clean rags, setting them carefully beside Allan. He paused before looking at Djaq. "Is there anything else I can do?" he asked quietly.

Instinctively, Djaq wanted to tell the man to pray. Perhaps the God he and Allan shared would listen, but she checked the impulse. She refused to worry everyone like that. Technically, Allan's fate still remained uncertain. Djaq could not predict the severity of the inevitable infection. Until the fever set in, leaving her with a better idea of Allan's prognosis, Djaq planned on keeping her judgments to herself.

Instead, Djaq murmured her thanks to Tuck, telling him there was nothing more she needed from him. Then, Tuck glanced at Allan, and though Tuck did not know Allan, Djaq saw the sadness and pity in the older man's expression. "I have seen wounds like this," he whispered, seeming lost in memories Djaq could not fathom.

Djaq nodded, unable to think of anything to say. Honestly, she did not wish to talk. She wanted silence.

"The Bishop enjoyed using hot irons." Tuck shook his head, and Djaq recalled the conversation she heard earlier – the one between Tuck and Wat. Tuck had confessed to murdering the Bishop of Hereford.

Djaq kept her gaze on Allan, and she could only imagine the agony he suffered each time that red hot metal seared his flesh. It made her sick and it disgusted her that people enjoyed inflicting such punishment on others. "You did the world a favor, then," Djaq said without really meaning to. She didn't want a conversation, but the response was impulsive. As she looked at Allan, she thought of all the people this Bishop of Hereford hurt for his own wicked pleasure. And she thought of all the people the Sheriff tortured … all the people he would continue to torture.

"Ah," Tuck murmured. "So you heard."

"Yes."

Tuck nodded but said nothing more. After a moment, he walked away, leaving Djaq alone with Allan but not for long. Will joined her then, remaining quiet as he took her hand in his. He squeezed it briefly, letting her know he was there for her. And that was Will, always knowing when to talk and when not to talk. She managed to hear what little Tuck had to say, but words from Will, who was closer to Allan than all of them, would have flustered her. It would have made it more difficult to force aside her love for Allan, something she had to do in order to make the necessary decisions as a physician – in order to let her head and not her heart guide her.

Drawing in a deep breath, Djaq gripped Will's hand momentarily in return before releasing it. Cleaning and bandaging Allan's wounds were priority, but she had to wait for the others to return with the ingredients she needed.

Instead, Djaq knelt beside Allan, preparing to set his shoulder. Though he was unconscious, she whispered that she was sorry, bracing for the moment when the agony jolted him back to painful awareness. But that moment never came. Allan never moved. He never even flinched, which might have seemed a blessing. Yet Djaq recognized the reality, knowing that any cry of pain – however much it would upset everyone to hear – was better than this utter lack of response.

Still, Djaq didn't allow herself to dwell on it. She'd allowed her rare flash of vulnerability, but that was behind her as she assumed the self-assured composure she demanded of herself and the composure everyone expected from her. Emotions served no purpose here. Medicine was a science, a precise, logical art that required a cool and steady head to thrive. Her father taught her that. He also taught her that instinct played a part to a point. It was the instinct of the mind, not the heart – the instinct of someone detached from the patient, capable of making difficult choices without another thought. Decisions needed to be made quickly, and caring too much interfered with that. Personal attachment to a patient resulted in second guesses, and second guesses led to mistakes – mistakes patients often could not afford.

Sarah returned to camp then, bringing the ingredients for the salve with her. It was far more than Djaq requested, and Sarah must have seen her eyebrows rise in a silent question because she said, "Lady Marian wanted to keep busy. Robin sent me back with these." She paused. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Thank you, no," Djaq replied, taking the bags from Sarah. She didn't bother asking why Marian wished to stay occupied. Djaq did not know her well, but she guessed Marian, like all of them, would rather work than rest. Resting allowed for thinking, and Djaq doubted anyone wanted to think very much right now.

Sarah glanced at Allan, and, like Tuck, a look of pity flashed over her face. Then, she pressed her lips together, and, for a second, Djaq thought Sarah might be sick. Perhaps she was thinking about the Tower. Djaq didn't know, and she was relieved Sarah didn't attempt to share whatever she was thinking. She only said, "If you need anything, I'll help."

Djaq nodded, and Sarah walked away, joining David, Wat, and Tuck and leaving Djaq alone with Will and Allan again. Quickly, Djaq instructed Will on how to prepare the salve. Then, Djaq began washing Allan's chest with the hot water, preparing his wounds for the salve and bandages. If Allan were conscious, this would have been excruciating for him.

But, once again, Allan never even moved.

* * *

Robin and Marian returned to camp, but Will barely noticed. Much finished cooking a pot of stew, spooning out bowls for each of them, but Will declined the offer, leaving Much to grumble about people starving to death. As always, Much meant well, and Will appreciated his attempt at doing something that resembled a normal evening at camp, but food was the furthest thing from Will's mind. At the moment, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to eat again.

Will stayed by Djaq's side – by Allan's side – and handed her the supplies she asked for while mashing up some pasty substance in a wooden bowl. It was a salve for Allan's wounds made from the plants Sarah had returned with earlier. Will guessed it was meant to help prevent infection, but he didn't ask, leaving Djaq to focus solely on Allan.

He continued to grind up the contents of the bowl, needing something – anything – to distract him, but this, unfortunately, wasn't distracting him as much as he wanted. Though he was helping in this small way, doing all he could conceivably do to help Djaq considering _she_ was the doctor and he was decidedly _not_, Will felt both useless and helpless.

And Will hated it. He hated that fixing Allan wasn't as simple as mending a chair or a table. He hated that Allan's fate was yet so uncertain. He hated that he'd left Allan alone at Knighton, and he hated that he'd been tricked by Sarah. He hated the Sheriff for his sadistic cruelty, but most of all, he hated death. He hated how powerless it made everyone feel. Nothing could stop death when it wanted someone. He saw enough of it during Robin's absence. So many people fell ill, and so many died during those harsh winters with threadbare clothing, little food, and no means to purchase anything.

Will watched his mother die. And it was strange how, looking at Allan, he was painfully reminded of his mother, of her last hours. There was something so similar, like it was in the very air around him … as if Death had some sort of tangible presence.

Focusing on the bowl, Will forced his thoughts aside. They were ridiculous anyway. He was being stupid and foolish, like the boy he'd been by his mother's deathbed. At the moment, _he_ might feel as if everything were beyond his control, but Djaq … _this_ was not beyond her. She could mend a broken body as effortlessly as he could mend a broken chair.

If Djaq couldn't save Allan, no one could. And Djaq could save him.

She could.

She _had_ to.

* * *

**A/N**: Normally, I do the personalized bit here, but it's been nearly a year since my last update. So, let me just say thank you a million times over to everyone who has read and everyone who has reviewed this story. A story just isn't a story if people don't read it :-D

Thanks again everyone! You're the best!


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Darkness had descended over the camp before Djaq finished cleaning and dressing Allan's numerous and blistering wounds.

After wiping away the sheen of sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand, Djaq sat back on her heels and surveyed Allan. His pallor and complete unresponsiveness terrified her.

Knowing that Allan needed _some_ water and nourishment, however minimal, Djaq cleared her throat and glanced at Will, who had not abandoned her side during the entire process. "He will need water. And ask Much for broth," Djaq told him.

Without a word, Will nodded and stood, leaving Djaq and Allan. Will had barely just departed before Robin joined her. At first, Robin said nothing, but then he crouched down beside Djaq. "I want the truth," he murmured.

Djaq sighed, feeling numb. A part of her prayed desperately for the welcome black oblivion of sleep, but she knew full well that sleep would elude her, at least until sheer exhaustion claimed her. "I do not know," Djaq said, offering the only honest answer she could without giving a judgment she did not want to voice aloud.

"You have an opinion," Robin pointed out.

Djaq pressed her lips together, gathering her thoughts and trying to guess what it was Robin wanted her to say exactly. "Her will contract a fever," Djaq finally explained. "His body might shut down. Now, we can only wait. I have done all I can for the moment." The words were cold and emotionless. Djaq felt drained, detached from everything and everyone at the moment. It was always this way when she assumed her role and wore the indifferent mask of physician, not friend. It _had_ to be this way.

"What do _you_ think?" Robin asked, and Djaq wondered why Robin was so determined to pry this awful answer from her lips. What purpose would it serve? But then, Djaq supposed it was Robin's nature – his innate need to understand precisely where matters stood whether or not it was the answer he wanted to hear.

"I think …" Djaq's voice trailed away, and she closed her eyes. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest, and her indifference slipped as the all too human and compassionate side of her nature forced its way into her consciousness. The barriers around her heart bowed, threatening to break. And Djaq could not endure that flood of emotion, not now. Drawing in a slow, deep breath, she allowed herself a moment to regain control. Her hands curled into fists, and her nails bit into her flesh. Gradually, her resolve strengthened as she buried away the overwhelming sorrow that gripped her and threatened to engulf her.

"I think," Djaq repeated, "that Allan will die." The words were hardly more than a faint, strained whisper. Djaq never intended to offer that horrible prediction, but Robin wanted – no, _needed_ – to know. He held himself accountable for all of the outlaws, and Djaq realized she owed him the truth rather than the optimism of false promises. Still, Djaq swore that Robin was the only one to who she would utter those damning words. No one else needed the truth, and no one else needed her honest opinion, not yet.

Djaq glanced at Robin. His jaw visibly tightened as he digested her words. Otherwise, he offered not even the barest flicker of emotion, but Djaq expected that from him. Robin needed his composure as desperately as Djaq needed hers.

Still, Djaq asked, "Does it make a difference? Is it easier now that you know what I think?"

A long moment of silence stretched between them. "No," Robin finally admitted. "But you would have carried the burden alone, waiting until it was obvious to share this opinion with us." He paused. "You should not have to carry that knowledge alone, even for a few days."

His response and insight surprised Djaq. She supposed, in the end, it was still Robin's need to assume control, however superficial, in an uncontrollable situation. Regardless, she originally imagined he needed to know her honest opinion because it was his nature, not because he wished to help shoulder her awful burden. "Thank you," Djaq said, though it did nothing to ease the heavy ache in her heart.

Robin winced as if her words were like a physical blow. He did not offer a reply, but Djaq surmised he didn't want gratitude in any form right now. Like all of them, Robin sought to somehow blame himself for Allan's precarious condition. Each of them realized the fruitlessness of blaming themselves, but it happened all the same. In their own unique way, they were family – perhaps even a closer knit family than families related by blood. The well being of one was dependent upon the others – one for all, all for one.

"You should tell Will. You owe him that," Robin said as he interrupted Djaq's thoughts.

Perhaps it was an irrational reaction, but Robin's matter-of-fact words irritated Djaq. She was exhausted, and her nerves were frayed. Grief threatened to consume her, and Robin wanted to tell her what she should and should not do.

"He already knows, Djaq," Robin continued. _We all do_. "You can see it in his face. He needs the truth. From you," Robin added.

Before Djaq could respond, Will returned with bowls of water and broth. With a slight nod in Djaq's direction and final glance at Allan, Robin stood. He murmured something indiscernible to Will before he departed. Then, Will set the bowls of water and broth down upon the earth and knelt beside Djaq, saying nothing as Djaq moved and gently maneuvered Allan's head into the cradle of her lap.

Instinctively, Djaq almost asked Will to pass her the ladle of water first, but she checked the impulse. Will had stayed diligently by her side through the entire ordeal of cleaning and bandaging Allan's wounds. During that time, neither she nor Will spoke, but Djaq had sensed Will's frustration all the same. He was frustrated by his impotence – his inability to _do_ anything … his inability to fix Allan.

"Give Allan the water first," Djaq instructed, providing Will the opportunity to play a part more substantial than spectator.

Whether or not Will comprehended her intent, Djaq didn't know, but Will shook his head. "No," he replied in a soft voice. "This is you, Djaq."

_You need this_.

The words were unspoken, but Djaq still heard them, and she realized Will was right, even if he had not actually voiced the words. She needed control over everything that happened to Allan … from now until the end. Even if she couldn't save him, she owed Allan everything she had. Allan was in her care, her hands. His life was her responsibility more so than anyone else's responsibility because _she_ was the physician. She was the one with the knowledge to save him, however futile that battle might be.

Carefully, Djaq accepted the ladle of water from Will. As the cool, fresh water trickled over Allan's cracked lips, his mouth opened. It was a faint response Djaq had barely dared hoped for, but she tempered her optimism even as Allan's throat worked, reflexively drinking the water she offered.

Djaq looked at Will, her eyes searching his somber expression. She wondered if he'd even noticed Allan's vague response – a weak sign of life that ultimately, Djaq reasoned, meant little considering the severity of Allan's condition.

_You should tell Will_.

Robin's words lingered in her mind, and Djaq was conflicted. On the one hand, she wanted to spare Will the pain of Allan's likely prognosis. After all, she didn't know Allan's fate for certain, not yet. But … didn't Will deserve the truth? He was closer to Allan than all of them, even Djaq.

"Will …" Djaq's voice trailed off. She didn't even know how to say what she needed to say. With Robin, it hadn't been so complicated.

But Will held up his hand. "I know, Djaq," he murmured. "I might not be a physician, but I know Death. I can _feel_ it." Djaq watched Will's throat work convulsively as if he were swallowing his emotions, concealing his pain. He frowned, his eyes on Allan. "I don't even remember the last thing I said to him."

Will's words somehow pierced Djaq's defensive armor in a way nothing else could. Tears burned her vision, and she drew in a sharp breath. "I don't remember what I said either," Djaq admitted as she realized those moments in Nottingham might have been her last with a conscious and coherent Allan, and it was nothing more than a hazy blur in her memory.

"The broth," Djaq said, nearly choking on the words. _Keep occupied_, she told herself_. Focus._

Quickly, Will dipped the ladle into the broth and handed it over to Djaq. Djaq blew on the steaming liquid until it cooled. Again, Allan unconsciously accepted the liquid, reflexes taking over where his conscious mind could not.

When she finished providing Allan the only sustenance he could accept in his current state, Djaq tenderly lowered his head back to the thick blanket beneath him.

For a long while, neither she nor Will spoke, each lost in their own private sorrow. Djaq noticed the others taking to bed as the evening grew later, though she imagined each of the outlaws either slept fitfully or merely feigned sleep. Again, Djaq wished for the black void of sleep where her grief could not torment her. But she could not rest. She would not close her eyes.

As if reading her thoughts, Will murmured, "You should sleep, Djaq."

Djaq shook her head. "No," she replied. "I will watch over Allan."

"_I _will keep watch over Allan," Will insisted. "You need rest, Djaq."

Again, Djaq shook her head. "I cannot sleep," she said. _If I sleep, Allan might die_. As absurd as that thought was, it plagued her.

"Djaq," Will said, and, finally, Djaq met Will's intense gaze. "Trust me. Please," he added. Then, unexpectedly and before Djaq could respond to his plea, Will stood and retrieved another blanket. He spread the blanket out near Allan before looking pointedly at Djaq.

She hesitated, and she was about to protest when Will took a few steps toward her and offered her his hand. The implications of that simple gesture struck Djaq, but, in that moment, Djaq was completely incapable of examining what was happening to her relationship with Will and how Allan's perilous condition inexplicably altered said relationship.

As Djaq stared at Will's outstretched hand, she _felt_ the grief between them. It was thick in the air, and it was nearly suffocating. Yet, as great as their sorrow was, so too was their need for each other in that moment. She, Will, and Allan shared an enigmatic bond, one that Djaq wasn't even certain she truly recognized until tonight. No one else could understand what she and Will endured as Death stalked Allan.

But they understood each other.

Djaq accepted Will's hand and joined him on the blanket he had spread out upon the ground. She curled up beside him, resting her head upon his chest as she resisted the brief urge to give into her reservations and back away from him.

"Relax," Will murmured. "Trust me," he added. "I won't fall asleep, Djaq. I promise." His words inexplicably melted the tension that tightened every muscle in her body.

She did trust him, far more than she should have.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, it's true. I used The Three Musketeers motto in this chapter. But I think it suits the gang, so forgive me for being cheesy.

Many thanks to …

**Marjatta **– Thank you! I'm glad to see you are still interested in reading though I've been terrible at updating. My little girl's 18 months now, and she is quite the handful :-D

**Kizume A.W.** – Thank you! I'm glad to hear you enjoyed the chapter. After so long between updates, it was a difficult chapter to write. And, hopefully, I plan to finish this story before I return to class for the spring semester, which starts January 11. So, I'm keeping my fingers crossed. We'll see how it goes :-D


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Though her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt, Djaq relaxed. Still, even as the tension eased from her body, Will felt the small tremors that shook her as she finally gave way to her overwhelming grief over Allan's uncertain fate. She trembled, struggling to weep silently. His shirt was damp with her tears, and his heart ached from the weight of his own sorrow as well as Djaq's.

Will considered saying something, anything, but he was at a loss. Besides, he imagined Djaq didn't actually want him to speak. When she accepted his hand only minutes earlier, she offered a part of herself to him – a rare flash of vulnerability that Will knew was uncharacteristic of Djaq. Were the circumstances of this intimacy between them different, Will might have reveled at Djaq's apparent display of trust in him.

"_Djaq, I wanted … before we do this … I mean, if anything should happen I wanted to tell you …"_

"_Don't," Djaq had whispered. "Whatever you want to say, tell me after we make it through today. Agreed?"_

Will reflected that earlier, in Locksley, he had been willing to tell Djaq that he loved her despite knowing that she wasn't prepared for such an admission. But Djaq had told him to wait, to save his words for after they survived the trial awaiting them at Nottingham Castle.

Well, they had survived Nottingham. But Allan hadn't yet survived, and, because of that, Will was incapable of considering anything beyond that grim reality, just as he knew Djaq was. So, for them, right now, words were both useless and meaningless. Instead, Will simply drew Djaq closer against the warmth of his body, tightening his arm around her and offering the only comfort he conceivably could at the moment.

He did not know how long Djaq sobbed, valiantly concealing her anguish so that only Will would ever know she'd cried for Allan this night. Time was irrelevant. All Will knew was that exhaustion finally claimed her, and she slept, leaving Will to his own tormented thoughts.

Will stared blankly at the thick forest canopy above.

He and Allan-a-Dale made the unlikeliest of friend – _no_, the unlikeliest of brothers. What drew the two of them together, Will didn't know. It just … _happened_. And, right now, Will didn't want to think about how he might lose Allan. He couldn't think about that. Yet desperate for some solace from the sorrow threatening to consume him, Will recalled the first time Robin had paired him with Allan, sending the two of them to Nottingham to meet with the volatile kitchen maid, Julia. The ever devious and resourceful Julia had gained information for Robin – for a price. Julia never did anything without the offer of generous compensation. The meeting had begun poorly for Will and Allan, considering the fact that Julia was appalled that Robin would send someone else in his stead.

"_I'll not talk to anyone but Robin Hood," Julia snapped._

_Will glanced around, wondering if anyone had heard her say their infamous leader's name. When none of the Sheriff's guards materialized, Will breathed a small sight of relief. Since spending time in the castle's dungeons and nearly meeting his death on the gallows, any mission that brought him close to Nottingham Castle made him more than a little apprehensive._

"_We've got the coin you want," Allan said._

_Julia folded her arms across her chest, emphasizing an already dangerously low neckline. Even Will, who prided himself on _not_ ogling women, couldn't help but notice, and he also noticed that Allan no longer seemed terribly interested in Julia's face. The maid might be greedy and ill-tempered, but she certainly made up for it in … other ways._

"_You'll not get anything from me. Tell your master that if he wants the information I'm selling, he'll come to Nottingham his self."_

_Allan visibly bristled when Julia said "your master," but, surprisingly, he managed to hold his tongue and refuse the bait. Then, as Julia turned on heel, Allan glanced over his shoulder at Will, clearly asking him for some help. However, Will simply shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. He was at a loss. Besides, Allan never failed to take an opportunity to boast about his countless female conquests. Surely _Allan_ could handle one irritable, albeit beautiful, kitchen maid._

_Allan rolled his eyes and mouthed something that looked like, "Lot of bloody help you are."_

"_Oi, Julia," Allan shouted as she moved quickly through the crowds of people. Allan hurried through the streets of Nottingham to keep up with Julia's rapid pace while Will followed close behind. As they traversed through Nottingham trailing the kitchen maid, merchants peddled their wares, each yelling to be heard over the others. The sound was deafening, and Will resisted the urge to press his hands over his ears to drown out the cacophony of voices._

_Finally, Allan caught Julia, grabbing her upper arm to halt her progress._

"_Let go of me," Julia snarled, but Allan held firm, hardly intimidated by her obvious anger. When she realized Allan wasn't about to swayed into releasing his grip on her arm, she stamped her foot in frustration, acting the part of a petulant child._

"_Look now, luv," Allan murmured soothingly as he inexplicably produced a bejeweled necklace that glinted brilliantly in the early afternoon sunlight, leaving Will to wonder how Allan had managed to acquire such an expensive piece. Then, Will recalled the merchants they passed while following Julia, and Will realized Allan had managed to steal the necklace, which was clearly an impressive feat considering Will hadn't even noticed the theft despite being right behind Allan. _

_Releasing his hold on Julia's arm, Allan carefully – almost reverently – clasped the jewels around her neck. His fingers lingered far too long against the bare flesh at her nape. _

"_Robin planned to come," Allan continued. "But, well, just between you and me, luv, the man can't hold his ale – bloody awful headache this morning. Arrogant git'll be useless the rest of the day. So, it's up to us, me and Will here."_

_Will gaped at Allan, stunned he would tell Julia that Robin was drunk. Regardless, Allan's lie seemed to somehow sooth Julia's ire and she nearly smiled as Allan murmured something else indiscernible, his lips close to her ear. Then, straightening, Allan retrieved the pouch at his waist containing Julia's generous payment. He dangled it before her and said, "All we need is the information you're selling. You could use this to buy yourself a pretty brea-oach. _Broach_," Allan repeated while Will closed his eyes and shook his head, wondering if Allan had ever had an innocent thought about a woman that didn't include physical attributes, however ample they might be. "You know," Allan continued, "to match that necklace."_

_Julia raised an eyebrow, shooting Allan a coy look. "A necklace and a broach," she said. "Don't you think that'd be a bit much for a kitchen girl?"_

"_Well, luv, not bein' funny, but a lady as pretty as yourself doesn't need shiny baubles," Allan conceded while he played right into Julia's sense of vanity. "Still, can't hurt to make the other girls jealous, yeah?"_

"_They _are_ rather nasty to me," Julia replied, and she looked terribly pleased by the thought of making the other kitchen maids envious._

I wonder why_, Will thought dryly. Normally, Will considered himself quite charitable in his opinions of others. Perhaps it made him naïve, but he preferred to seek out the good in people. However, he couldn't manage to extend that courtesy toward Julia, who seemed to have few, if any, redeeming qualities beyond the physical. Yet Allan didn't appear to have much of an issue saying exactly what Julia wanted to hear. Somehow, miraculously, in the span of an incredibly brief conversation, Allan had charmed the shrew._

_After that, Julia eagerly snatched the pouch from Allan's hand, thoroughly checking the pouch's contents to make certain her payment was sufficient. Then, she quickly and succinctly outlined precisely what she overheard the Sheriff discussing with Gisborne, offering more than enough information for Robin to foil the Sheriff's nefarious scheme._

_Allan and Julia exchanged a few more words – words Will chose not to hear as he wandered down the street a ways and took a decided interest in a mangy dog rummaging for food. Several long minutes passed before Julia departed and Allan finally joined Will._

"_I'll buy you a pint at the Trip," Allan announced unexpectedly as he and Will maneuvered through the bustling crowds gathered around the various merchant tables._

"_No," Will replied. He was anxious to leave Nottingham behind and return to Sherwood. Besides, even if he wanted to take Allan up on his abrupt offer and enjoy a pint at Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, Will knew full well that Robin would be awaiting their return to camp. _

"_Live a little, mate," Allan said as they neared the popular tavern._

"_And do you plan to steal the ale like you stole the necklace?" Will knew that neither he nor Allan had so much as a schilling to their respective names at the moment._

_Allan shrugged. "I probably could," he said. "But I figured I'd try something new and pay."_

"_With _what_ exactly?"_

_Allan glanced at Will. "D'you think I paid Julia all Robin gave us?"_

_Well, of course that's what Will assumed Allan did. It's what anyone else would have done except, apparently, Allan-a-Dale. "Then we should give what's left back to Robin," Will concluded without a second thought, considering that was the _right_ thing to do._

_Allan stopped short, turning to look at Will as if he'd suddenly contracted leprosy. "You're _that_ bloody honest?" Allan sighed, shaking his head. "You, mate, need a drink and a girl," he said as he seized Will's shoulder and forcibly steered Will toward Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem._

"_Robin's expecting us back at camp."_

"_Look," Allan began, clearly exasperated, "where would you be if I hadn't tamed the shrew?"_

"_I would've thought of something," Will replied._

"_Not likely," Allan returned. "So, way I see it, you owe me. It's one drink. __‛__Sides, I told Julia I'd be here."_

"_Allan – __"_

"_Oi, look, mate," Allan said, "Robin'll take it better if you're with me – won't go off on one of his high and mighty speeches. And maybe you like bein' a bloody monk, but not me."_

_As he and Allan entered the tavern, Will realized there was little hope of deterring Allan. And considering it was Allan, it would be a terrible idea to leave him alone at the Trip. It wasn't so much what Robin would say, but rather what Allan would _do_ if someone wasn't around to keep him out of trouble … or at least drag him out when he found trouble._

_So, annoyed, Will stayed. Allan ordered him a tankard of ale, but Will hardly touched it. Meanwhile, Allan drank like a dying man in the desert might drink water. One drink became two which became three and then four._

_As Allan prepared to order his fifth and play another round of dice, Julia arrived at the Trip. Several men watched her, but Will barely offered her a passing glance as she sidled up to Allan, making Allan the envy of nearly every man in the tavern. Allan muttered something to Will and tossed him a few coins, but Will couldn't understand what Allan said over the tavern's din. In fact, Will could hardly hear his own thoughts over the ruckus. _

_Then, Allan disappeared with Julia. Despite knowing that Allan could manage to find trouble anywhere, Will certainly had no intentions of following them to keep Allan from doing something stupid._

_Yet, perhaps he should have._

_The tryst between Allan and Julia was decidedly short-lived. Not long after Allan vanished with Julia, a simultaneous roar swept over the patrons, and it was a sound that Will long ago learned to associate with drunken men and a fight. Somehow, it didn't surprise Will that Allan was involved._

_Not in the least inclined toward charity on Allan's behalf, Will held his distance and merely turned to watch the action, which, Will decided, wasn't likely to favor Allan._

_Of course, Allan was a skilled fighter. Of that, Will had no doubt. But, despite Allan's ability in combat, Allan was nearly drunk, which didn't bode well for him while facing a man twice his size and obviously _less_ drunk._

_As Allan and the larger man circled each other, the tavern's patrons started laying wagers. When asked for his bet, Will shrugged and retrieved the coins Allan had given him before disappearing with Julia, placing the money on Allan's opponent. _

_The crowd shouted, and the noise was deafening as Allan took the first swing. To Will's surprise, Allan at first gained the upper hand, though Will soon realized that the larger man, whom a nearby patron called Fulke, was simply baiting Allan, luring him into a false sense of triumph. The tide turned quickly, and Will winced as Allan took more than a few nasty blows. At that moment, Will debated intervening and saving Allan from a vicious beating at Fulke's hands. Yet considering the almost feverish attitude of the crowd, drunk and anxious for violence, Will concluded that his intervention might cause a riot. Still, Fulke appeared merciless, and Will was starting to genuinely fear for Allan's life. Bracing for the worst, Will stood just as Julia saved him the trouble of rescuing Allan. And, luckily, the riotous patrons were far more forgiving of a lovely woman's interference than they would have been, Will imagined, of his interference. _

_Still, the crowd did not mask their disappointment and grumblings as Julia pleaded with Fulke, who, Will surmised from the exchange, was a jealous ex-lover. Finally, Fulke backed down, though he still shouted a colorful string of curses at Allan, vowing to find him when he couldn't hide behind a woman's skirts. Then, since Julia had begged on Allan's behalf, Fulke was named the victor of the impromptu match, leaving Will to earn a decent return on the few coins he'd dropped on Fulke. Somehow, Will figured Allan would at least appreciate that._

_Shaking his head over the whole mess, Will then pushed his way through the crowd until he reached Allan, who sported a bloody lip, a bloody nose, and an eye that was nearly swollen shut. Julia was trying to plead with Allan to stay, but Allan finally seemed more than ready to leave the Trip. "Sorry, luv," Allan said as he tipped his head in Will's direction. "But Robin'll want me and Will here back at camp." Allan swayed on his feet and Will steadied him with a hand to his shoulder before he could stumble backwards._

_Julia didn't conceal her anger at their departure, cursing at Allan almost as creatively as Fulke had. To Will's annoyance, Allan stopped, returning to Julia. He silenced her with a kiss and a few murmured words that Will was more than happy _not_ to be privy to. Still, he had to marvel at Allan's ability to calm the enraged Julia._

_Based on the look Will gave Allan when he unsteadily made his way back to Will, Allan shrugged and said, "Have to keep my options open, mate."_

"_Doesn't seem worth it," Will replied as he figured he didn't care how beautiful Julia was. There was far more to it than a pretty face, but that was where he and Allan differed greatly in their opinions of women._

"_Did you _look_ at her?"_

"_Yes," Will returned._

"_Guess that's why you don't mind bein' a monk," Allan said. "You're all noble and think it's about love." He said the word as if it was offensive and with such disgust that Will was slightly startled._

"_No," Will conceded. Despite Allan's probable assumptions about him, Will had his share of experience, albeit limited by Allan's likely standards. "But it should at least be about respect."_

"_You _would_ think that," Allan said._

_Will did not respond, refusing to be goaded into an argument._

_For awhile, they walked in silence. Will slowed his pace so that Allan, more than a little wobbly on his feet, could keep up._

_Finally, Allan broke the silence. "__S'pose you'll tell Robin."_

_Again, Will didn't reply, and Allan didn't press the issue. Will knew he should tell Robin as Robin would be expecting to know why it took Will and Allan the better part of the day to obtain the information Julia was selling. Even if Will wanted to cover for Allan, how would he explain Allan's injuries and intoxication? Still, a part of him didn't want to face Robin and the others and offer the truth. Maybe no one really said it, but it was obvious no one genuinely trusted Allan without reservation. They trusted him insofar as was necessary since he hadn't exactly proven he _couldn't_ be trusted, but Will suspected the trust was almost superficial. After all, how could anyone wholly trust someone so adept at lying? _

_To admit Allan was involved in a tavern brawl that, realistically, could have been disastrous if any of the Sheriff's men had been about would anger Robin, and the already limited trust everyone felt toward Allan would suffer._

_Will didn't know much about Allan; he didn't even pretend to know much about Allan. Yet somehow Will suspected that Allan truly did want to be a part of Robin's gang and not merely in a superficial sense. It was just that … well, it was Allan. All things considered, Allan was the piece that somehow just didn't fit right. He was so different from the rest of them, motivated by things Will did not understand. Allan certainly served Robin's purpose – a talented liar to believably front many of Robin's schemes. Aside from that, Allan was an expert pickpocket, a talent which served its purpose on more than one occasion. But beyond his obvious skills, how did Allan really fit with the rest of the gang? The answer was that he didn't, and Will imagined that made him feel isolated and lonelier than he would ever dare admit._

_And perhaps he was just trying to make excuses for Allan – excuses that Allan probably didn't deserve. Whatever the reason, Will did something completely uncharacteristic. _

_He lied._

_Much as Will expected, when he and Allan finally reached camp, Robin was waiting and he looked far from pleased. _

"_What happened?" Robin demanded as he looked pointedly at Allan._

"_We _were_ about to leave for Nottingham," Much informed them, standing alongside Robin. "You were gone for hours. We thought something terrible had happened."_

"_There was trouble," Will explained. "After we met with Julia, a guard must've recognized us. Allan and I split up and decided to meet at Mabbe's, where we hid until the search was called off. When we went separate ways, Allan ended up in a bit of a fight," he added, realizing he needed to somehow account for Allan having sustained injuries while Will had not._

"_Mabbe," Little John scoffed. "She'll give you a pint for whatever does and doesn't ail you. Must be why you smell like a tavern," he added, glancing at Allan._

_Robin, however, remained silent as he studied Will, processing that bit of information. Honestly, Will was surprised how quickly the brazen old woman's name came to his lips. Mabbe was the perfect alibi. She was the widow of a wealthy merchant who had provided well enough for her to see her quite comfortably into the next life. She often donated to the poor, and had a soft spot for Robin. She'd helped him out of a tight spot once or twice before in Nottingham, allowing him to use her home as a sanctuary from the guards. Aside from that, Mabbe was more than a little daft. She often forgot things, which was why no one would think anything of it if, for some reason, they happened to mention her hiding Will and Allan and she failed to recall the incident._

_Finally, Robin appeared to accept Will's explanation. After all, Will realized, the others trusted him implicitly. He felt guilty about abusing that trust, but he reasoned that lying, just this once, wasn't causing any harm. Then, Will reported what he and Allan had learned from Julia. When he finished, Will said, "Allan managed to talk down Julia's price." Will handed Robin the pouch of coins he'd won by placing a bet on Fulke at Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem._

_Robin accepted the pouch. "The information was well worth the gold, but we can use this to help the blacksmith in Nettlestone pay the Sheriff's taxes. Well done, Allan."_

_It wasn't until two mornings later when Will and Allan were once again paired to deliver the tax money to the blacksmith in Nettlestone that Allan simply said, "Thanks, mate." It was the first time he'd said "mate" to Will and sounded as if he genuinely meant it. Then, Allan asked, "Where d'you get the extra coin? That was more than I tossed you when I left with Julia."_

"_I bet on Fulke," Will replied matter-of-factly._

_At that, Allan laughed. "Good wager, mate. Maybe there's hope for you yet."_

The memory of that first, rather eventful, outing that paired Will with Allan elicited a small smile. Yet, as he turned his head and glanced at the lifeless body of his once very animated friend and brother, that tiny shred of amusement disappeared. His grip around Djaq tightened. Will needed to feel her warmth beside him in a way that reached his very soul. His throat contracted and tears blurred his vision. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to feel like the helpless boy he'd been at his mother's deathbed.

He didn't want to feel weak.

But he couldn't stop the tears. He failed against the tide of sadness just as Djaq had struggled and failed.

He loved Allan as he loved Luke, his own flesh and blood brother. Yet, much as he tried, he couldn't even remember the last words he'd said to his closest friend – the person who somehow knew him better than he knew himself sometimes.

* * *

Many thanks to …

**Kizume A.W.** – Thank you so much! I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying my portrayal as Djaq. And thank you again for reading and reviewing. I greatly appreciate it!

**Capt. Cow** – I nearly fell out of my chair when I realized it had been nearly a year since I updated! My sense of time is messed up. Before I sat down to write chapter 26, I seriously thought I'd only been gone for maybe 6 months tops. Well, anyway, thank you so much! I'm so glad that you've enjoyed this chapter and felt I kept everyone true to character. I appreciate that as I always worry a little when I try to write angsty stuff. I worry that I'll fail to keep characters IN character. Thanks again!

**Marjatta** – Thank you so much! I greatly appreciate it. Even trying to do something as simple as laundry can be a chore with a toddler, lol. Again, thank you. I appreciate the support.

**Lilly Navarro** – Thank you so much! I'm so glad to hear that you're enjoying the story. I know I've said it about a million times before, but Allan was my favorite character throughout the first two seasons (I never watched the third). He is also the character I desperately wanted to give more depth to. I'm thrilled to hear that you've enjoyed his portrayal throughout the story. Thank you again!

**HighPriestessOfTheDreamWorld** – Thank you so much for both of your lovely reviews! They mean so very much to me. I take it as the highest compliment that you've added my story to your community. Thank you. And I agree with your assessment with Robin. He was arrogant and he could be cruel with his words, especially toward Much. Yet, despite it all, Robin's a good man who loves and knows his friends and takes the utmost responsibility for their lives. And, of course, I'm flattered that you love the portrayal of Will and Djaq. Again, thank you!

Once more, thank you all again a million times over. It is much appreciated.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Sleep evaded him. Actually, more to the point, a _comfortable position_ evaded him.

Of course, Much didn't actually expect to truly sleep, but it would have been nice to lie down comfortably.

With a miserable sigh, Much decided to abandon any pretense of sleep and, in fact, of even lying down. Pushing himself upright, Much sat wearily upon his disheveled heap of blankets, briefly wishing for the long ago days in Locksley when he slept on a bed mat stuffed with wool. Then, he glanced over at his master's makeshift bed, wondering if Robin had finally managed to rest. Judging by the lumpy outline, Much surmised that his master was buried _somewhere_ beneath the mound of covers.

Much rubbed the bandage over his arrow wound. His shoulder throbbed, and his entire arm ached. But considering the grim circumstances hanging heavily over the outlaw camp, Much would never dare complain about what was, ultimately, a trifling injury. After a week, at most, of discomfort, Much would heal.

Allan might not.

Much looked over at Allan's prone form. Admittedly, Allan never was and never would be Much's favorite person, and Much assumed the feeling was mutual. More often than not, Much entertained his fair share of rather uncharitable opinions toward Allan, but it _never_ meant he wished ill toward the man. Despite his almost constant feelings of irritation toward Allan, Much had actually missed Allan's usual quips about his cooking. He had missed the often crude but always, Much grudgingly admitted, quite hilarious stories Allan told the outlaws over the evening meal. He had missed Allan trying to teach Will how to cheat at dice, which was a feat Will never honestly attempted to master. Yet, he humored Allan all the same. Much had simply missed the normalcy of an evening at camp, and Allan-a-Dale owned a special piece of that – something that no one else could ever possibly duplicate. Considering all of it and considering Allan, Much was completely incapable of reconciling the Allan he knew – the Allan they all knew – with the unresponsive shell of a man he saw now.

Then Much's gaze drifted to Will and Djaq. More specifically, Much noticed that Djaq slept cradled in Will's arms. _That_ was a decidedly new development, though, Much reflected, somehow not as surprising as it should have been considering the strange and inexplicable bond Will, Allan, and Djaq shared. Much didn't pretend to understand how three so very different people managed to develop such a close friendship, and he didn't try to understand it. It was what it was, and, despite everyone's nearly palpable concern of Allan, Will and Djaq were the two who belonged by Allan's side now.

As Much debated what exactly he should _do_ since sleep was impossible, he heard the rustle of movement that called his attention back to his master's makeshift bed. After a moment, Robin threw the blankets aside and stood. He offered a passing glance in Allan's direction before he slipped quietly through the camp, disappearing into the forest and leaving Much to realize it had been far too much to hope that his master might actually _sleep_.

At first, Much toyed with the notion of trying to simply ignore his master's abrupt departure as he realized Robin probably didn't want the company. Of course, feigning ignorance in this matter was impossible. He worried for Robin, especially considering the terrible uncertainty of Allan's fate. Since the Holy Land – Acre especially – his master was … different. Much didn't claim to understand _how_ precisely Robin was different, but their shared experiences in the Holy Land had indefinably altered Robin.

And Much worried. _Of course_, Much worried. If he didn't worry for Robin, who would? His master certainly didn't worry enough about himself.

Without further debate over the matter, Much followed Robin, carefully picking his own way through camp. Despite the distance Robin already likely had on him, Much guessed Robin's probable destination and followed the familiar path to a smooth rock shelf that overlooked one of the many streams that snaked through Sherwood Forest. As he expected, Much found Robin crouched on the rock shelf as he methodically pitched stones into the gently bubbling waters of the stream. Long ago Much understood that something about the repetition somehow soothed Robin when he was overly distressed, lost in the nightmares of the present as well as the past. He stared vacantly out over the water, seemingly unaware that Much had joined him.

Much hated when Robin slipped into this melancholy state. Sometimes he wondered if anyone else ever noticed it. Unwittingly, Much recalled the first time he'd noticed his master slip away from the present, apparently lost somewhere inside himself.

_The stab wound should have killed him. But his master was stronger than that. Robin of Locksley had survived where many others would not. The King's own physician had attended Robin, once telling Much that Robin was stubbornly determined to live, fighting Death every step of the way. Any other would have succumbed to the wound and the fever long before._

"_He has a reason to live," the royal physician had said. "A woman, I suppose. It usually is."_

_Much knew his master yet thought about Lady Marian, calling to her while the infection consumed him. He loved her though they had not parted well. Marian failed to understand Robin's decision. Perhaps that was because his master had been unable to voice his fears, his dread that he couldn't handle the burden of Locksley and its people … that he could never be the man his father was. That was part of it, anyway – at least the part that Robin confided in Much. And it had been a moment of vulnerability that Robin rarely showed others. His master preferred to keep his weaknesses to himself._

_As for the other part, Much suspected his master panicked at his upcoming nuptials. It wasn't that Robin didn't love Lady Marian, because he did. Maybe Robin hadn't realized it quite so well as he did while he lay on his deathbed, but he loved her long before the Holy Land. Much was more than certain of that. Still, Robin faced marriage with much the same trepidation as he faced becoming Lord of Locksley. _

_Robin idolized his father and rightfully so. Much admired the man himself, thankful for his generosity. He'd given Much a home and treated him as a person, which was a rare gift. Most nobles treated servants as mere material possession – things to be used and discarded, animals to be beaten or berated. Regardless of his compassion often uncharacteristic of a noble, the late Lord Locksley was still _just_ a man – something that Robin seemed unable to accept. Robin held his father on a pedestal and convinced himself that he could never equal his father – as a lord, as a husband, as a father, as a man._

"_The ship sails tomorrow then?" Wishing only to break the awful silence, Much asked a question he already knew the answer to._

_For a long time, his master didn't speak. He didn't even look at Much. Instead, Robin stared straight ahead, but somehow Much suspected that Robin wasn't seeing the tent. Finally, Robin replied, "I shall never forget it, Much."_

_Much swallowed hard, glancing away from the intense stare Robin turned on him. Much realized that his master wasn't speaking about the wound or the pain or the fever. No, his master was talking about the war, the battles … the bloody massacre of Acre. They had seen comrades fall, and they had taken lives, so many lives that Much knew the dead would haunt him forever. But worse than that, he and Robin had witnessed how war manipulates even the best of men, making them slaves to bloodlust – violence, rape, and murder._

"_I have killed so many and watched so many others die."_

_Again, Much refused to meet his master's eyes. In the aftermath of a victorious battle, some Crusaders took pleasure in mutilating the enemy soldiers left alive. In Acre, it wasn't just Saladin's men. It was women … and children. Much closed his eyes, hearing the screams. Of course, his master wasn't like the others. He didn't participate in the sadistic cruelty. He tried to save those he could, but one man could only accomplish so much against such a tide of brutality. Still, in the heart of the battle itself, Robin became a different man, one Much wasn't even certain he recognized. His master possessed the unnerving instincts of an assassin, quick and lethal. Robin never missed a target and he never hesitated._

_But that was war._

"_You know," Robin said._

_Finally, Much looked at him, and Robin continued, "You know why we are different, Much. You think about the men you have killed. You always hesitate. I tell you not to. If you do, you will eventually die. And still, you hesitate. But out there, I do not think." He paused. "I kill."_

_His master fell silent after that, his expression almost vacant. But Much knew the words that hung heavy between them – the questions that Robin would never dare ask aloud, the questions for which Robin didn't really want answers._

Much forced aside the troubled recollections. After all, simply returning to English soil had bettered Robin's dark moods, which had occurred all too frequently on the voyage home for Much's liking. Perhaps his master was not and never would be _quite_ the same man he'd been before taking the Cross and joining King Richard, but England, despite all her troubles, had certainly improved Robin's foul spirits.

Shaking his head, Much stepped forward. A twig cracked sharply beneath his foot, but Robin did not start or turn, leaving Much to realize Robin had already been aware of his presence but simply chose not to acknowledge him.

Robin pitched another stone into the water. Much hesitated, and, before he could gather his thoughts and speak, Robin snapped, "Say what you came to say. I imagine you plan to talk whether or not I want to hear it."

Perhaps Much should have been offended. Most other people would have at least been irritated at being dismissed as little more than an annoyance, which was, of course, the underlying implication of Robin's callously spoken words. Yet, unlike other people, Much understood that Robin was often careless with both his tone and his words, especially when such a dark mood controlled him. In such a state, Robin never truly meant half of what he said, though Much admitted it still stung.

"What happened to Allan … it is not your fault," Much said. "It is no one's fault, actually, except the Sheriff and Gisborne." He paused. "But everyone seems willing to blame themselves." Honestly, was he the only one who saw that the blame for this atrocity should be placed squarely on the shoulders of the Sheriff and Gisborne – the two men who _actually_ tortured Allan? Of course, everyone wanted to think they'd played some role in Allan's capture, which led to his torture. But none of them could control the Sheriff or Gisborne. None of them could control or alter their decision to torture Allan. _This_ was the life they led and the terrible consequences. It could have just as easily been John or Will whom the Sheriff tortured. It could have been any of them. Did it make Allan's condition any less horrible? No, it did not, but the reality was that no one else was to blame but the Sheriff and Gisborne.

"The Sheriff and Gisborne did that to Allan," Much reiterated when Robin did not respond.

Again, Robin remained silent as he continued to methodically pitch stones into the water.

"Master – "

"If you insist on calling me that," Robin bit out, "then at least act the part and do as you are told. _Leave me alone_."

Much drew in a deep breath. "No. No, I will not. You are not yourself. You are blaming yourself – "

"Because it is my fault," Robin snapped. "Allan _is_ my responsibility, just as you are my responsibility, just as Marian is my responsibility, just as _everyone_ is my responsibility."

Much sighed, exasperated by the irrationality of his master's thinking. "You cannot hold yourself accountable – "

"Yes, Much," Robin interrupted, "I can." He paused, rolling a stone between his fingers. "If Allan dies, it is because of my choices. Every time I choose, I sacrifice someone. Had the archer's aim been accurate, you could have died today. Had I not reached Marian in time, Gisborne could have killed her."

Much wasn't certain what to say, especially because he realized that no matter what he said, Robin would never abandon his unreasonable sense of responsibility. After all, he believed his father had been perfect and therefore incapable of making a choice that bore negative consequences.

Well, no one was perfect, the late Lord Locksley included. But Much knew he would never convince Robin of that very real fact. He didn't even try. Instead, he said, "You cannot make everyone's choices. And … well, you cannot save everyone from their choices either."

Robin did not reply, but Much had not expected it. No one could dictate Robin's thinking. He would think as he thought best, regardless of anyone else's opinion. Still, it was not because Robin didn't _hear_ other people, though sometimes, Much imagined, it seemed that way.

And perhaps Much simply made too many excuses for his master. Certainly, some of the others might view it that way. Yet, ultimately, none of the other outlaws could ever understand what he and Robin experienced on the bloody battlefields of the Holy Land – of Acre. None of them could understand how those experiences changed Robin.

But Much did, and he supposed that was why he would always make excuses – deserving or not – for Robin's behavior. And though Much hated the silence – that awful silence that reminded him of the tent in Acre and his master's first noticeable bout of melancholy – he kept quiet.

Finally, Robin stood. Before he made his way back to camp, he paused beside Much and placed a hand on Much's uninjured shoulder. "You know," Robin said.

Much nodded as Robin released his grip on his shoulder and departed back in the direction of camp.

_Yes_, Much thought, _I know_.

* * *

**A/N:** All right, that was my little foray into the show's implication that Robin suffers from some form of post traumatic stress disorder. Plus, I haven't really done a lot in this story from Much's perspective. I hope you enjoyed! Thanks again for reading!

Many thanks to …

**gatewatcher** – Thanks so much! I'm so happy to see you're still following the story despite my horrendous lack of updates. I really appreciate it. Thanks again!

**HighPriestessOfTheDreamWorld** – Wow! Thank you so much! You're making me blush with such a lovely review! I'm so thrilled that you liked the description of Allan's tenuous place within the gang. I'm also glad that you enjoyed Will and Djaq in this chapter. And you're right; it is really hard to keep Djaq strong while showing the emotion necessary while dealing with Allan's potential death. I'm so glad to hear that came across well. Oh! And I definitely agree – I never imagined that Will was intimidated by Djaq. My interpretation is that he both respected and admired her. Again, I can't tell you how much I appreciate the review. Thank you so much again!

**Marjatta** – Thank you so much! I really appreciate it! I'm happy to hear you enjoyed the flashback with Will and Allan. I enjoyed writing it :-D

**Mischieftheblackwolf** – Thanks so much! I really appreciate the review! And wow! You read the entire story twice – that's incredibly flattering. Thank you! And nope, I definitely never watched the third season, and, honestly, I have no real intention of watching it. But that is kind of funny that Tuck seems to be in character based on his portrayal in the third season. Maybe the BBC stole my version of Tuck (physical appearance aside) since I introduced the character into my story in, like, 2007. LOL. Joking, of course. I just find it interesting that he seems similar to the BBC's portrayal of him in the third season. Well, anyway, thank you so much again!


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

The day dawned gray and bleak, which accurately reflected the melancholy draped like a heavy cloak over the outlaw camp. Yet despite the damp chill in the air and the apparent threat of rain, David of Doncaster was anxious to depart Sherwood Forest. In fact, he had never before been more eager to leave behind a particular place than he was that morning. He felt as if he was entombed in a bloody crypt, and it was damn near suffocating.

Naturally, Robin's gang mourned their likely dying comrade. The Saracen hovered over the injured man, checking his bandages. Briefly, David had to marvel at the trust these Englishmen placed in a Saracen. Not many others would have allowed anyone but an English physician near a dying friend. But, based on what David knew about Robin of Locksley, Robin wasn't exactly like his countrymen. Oh, the man was English through and through, of course. But Robin was … _different_. They all were, really.

David shook his head. Trying to decipher the enigma that was Robin Hood, noble turned outlaw, was useless. Besides, it didn't honestly matter anyway. Once he left Sherwood, David did not intend to look back, thus sealing the mostly unfortunate chapter of his life that caused him to cross paths with the infamous outlaw and his gang.

Turning aside those thoughts, David continued to watch the Saracen attend to the man the others had called Allan, and he noticed how the silent carpenter, Will Scarlet, stayed by the Saracen's side, stoically observing. Clearly, he was either dedicated to the Saracen or Allan … or both. David also noted how awful Will's face looked, courtesy of the broken nose he had suffered when Sarah had tricked him, playing on his sympathy. Of course, David guessed that Will barely registered the discomfort he had to be experiencing. He looked far too intently aware of the Saracen and Allan to realize anything else.

Meanwhile, the rest of the outlaws kept their silence, lost, David supposed, in their own thoughts and their own sorrow. And the silence irked David, reminding him of the awful quiet that would, at times, settle over the Tower before the bloodcurdling scream of the subjugator's unfortunate victim would rip through the silence and echo like the horrific wail of a banshee through the corridors.

David drew in a deep breath, trying to sill the sudden racing of his heart. His hands felt clammy and cold as unbidden recollections fogged his mind.

"I can't stand this."

Thankful that her voice dragged him back to the present, David glanced at Sarah. She twirled a piece of hair around her finger, a nervous habit of hers that David had long ago noticed.

And he understood what Sarah meant and how she felt.

Nothing was more awkward than bearing witness to a grief one did not share. Grief was a private matter, which was something David knew all too well. And, obviously, David felt sorry for the man the Sheriff had tortured; they all did. But, well, he didn't know Allan, and he certainly wasn't going to pretend to mourn someone he didn't know.

Anyway, the grim silence and the awkwardness aside, David would simply feel relieved once he, Sarah, Wat, and Tuck crossed the Channel. Though he entertained mixed thoughts about returning to Aquitaine after so many years, David believed that he and his odd group of friends would fare much better in Aquitaine than in England. In England, the threat of the Tower would always haunt them, even though David reasoned that none of them were fool enough to travel close enough to London where soldiers might recognize them.

Glancing at his three unlikely comrades, David asked, "Then we're decided?"

For a moment, no one said a word. Then, Sarah pointed out, "You're being too generous. I never would've figured it of _you_, David." She sighed, still twirling her hair about her finger. "But … yes. It's the least we can do after the way we've mucked things up for them."

"A man might die," Tuck murmured. "I would say that is more than, 'mucking things up,' as you put it, Sarah."

Sarah flushed, and David interceded on her behalf. "Now's not the time for it, Tuck. We know what she meant. No use trying to play the good Father now and remind us of our sins. You'd bloody well be here all day for that."

"I was not a priest," Tuck responded.

_Bloody hell_, David thought. He'd always thought Tuck was a little strange, but, well, Tuck was a man of God while David, assuredly, was _not_. He imagined that was why he didn't understand Tuck half the time, but this … why was the man being so odd?

"Does it matter?" David hissed.

Tuck didn't respond at first. Then, he shook his head. "No," he muttered. "It does not. My apologies, I'm thinking about other things."

"Did the Bishop hurt people like that?" Wat asked.

Sarah, who sat beside Wat, smacked him on the shoulder. "Don't ask about that," she said.

David looked between the two before his gaze fell on Tuck. Of course, they all knew that Tuck had been accused of murdering the Bishop of Hereford. But it wasn't something you simply _asked_ the man about.

Finally, almost absently, Tuck replied, "Yes. He liked hot irons." He fell silent again for a long moment before he shook his head. "It is the past." He looked at David. "I agree with the decision to take only what gold is necessary."

"And you Wat, what do you think?" David asked the red-haired man who had yet to offer his view on the matter. Though, at this point, Wat's opinion meant little considering David's own consent as well as Sarah's and Tuck's. David was simply providing Wat the opportunity to voice his opinion.

Wat shifted as he grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath. Then, he said, "I'm not going to argue. Do what you want."

That was all the more answer David needed. "Right then," David announced as he stood. He surveyed the dejected camp until his eyes rested on Robin. The outlaw leader sat alone, which David did not find the least surprising considering Robin's black expression. The man looked as if the slightest annoyance might drive him to kill. In fact, David debated on the wisdom of even approaching Robin now. Yet David recognized his de facto role as the leader of his own little band of… misfit outlaws. Someone needed to speak to Robin, and that someone, inevitably, was him.

Bracing for a storm, David crossed the camp. No one acknowledged him by word. In fact, no one even spared so much as a glance at him. When he stood before Robin, David waited, but Robin never even acknowledged him. He stared straight ahead. David noticed the dark circles evident beneath Robin's eyes. His skin was almost sickly pale in the gray morning light, and David guessed the outlaw leader hadn't slept properly in a good many nights.

Without preamble, David simply said, "We're leaving."

Robin did not respond.

_All right, then_, David thought. _Nothing like making this more unpleasant than it needs to be_. "And we're leaving the gold we collected from the Sheriff," David continued. "We'll take what we need to see us to Aquitaine. Do what you will with the rest." He paused, waiting for Robin to do or say _something_. But he did not. "Look," David began, feeling awkward, "I know it doesn't mean much. I doubt you want to hear it, but I'll say it anyway. I'm sorry. We all are. We were blinded by the things we endured and Prince John's promises. So … right, we're sorry then."

David was about to turn. He'd said what he needed to say, but Robin finally looked up at David. Based on the man's dark expression, David imagined that there were a great many things Robin wished to say to him, probably none of them too kind. Still, Robin simply didn't appear to have either the energy or inclination. All he said was, "I want to speak with Tuck."

Understanding Robin's intent, David replied, "He's not a priest."

Robin's jaw tightened and David figured he should have kept his mouth shut. Yet despite the flicker of irritation at David's words, Robin's voice remained oddly devoid of emotion. "We do not have holy oil either, but I think God will understand."

David shrugged. He wasn't about to debate God's penchant for understanding to a man who was on the verge of losing a friend. Though, truth be told, David personally didn't have much faith in God's charity.

"I'll tell him," David said before he turned and walked away, leaving Robin to his privacy.

* * *

Despite not wanting to leave Allan's side, Djaq had to tend to her own needs. She noticed Tuck speaking with Robin before she murmured a few instructions to Will and informed him that she would return shortly. Perhaps Will noticed something in her expression because he inexplicably reached for her hand. "It's all right, Djaq," he said softly as he gently squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her. "I'm here."

Djaq closed her eyes and nodded, momentarily savoring the warmth and comfort of his hand covering hers. Somehow, Will gave her strength, which was a strange thing to realize since Djaq prided herself on being her _own_ source of strength. But she refused to puzzle over it. She refused to debate the wisdom of finding sanctuary in Will's embrace, however fleeting it may have been. More to the point, she refused to question her desire to feel his arms around her again. Now was not the time for such contemplations.

Djaq moved quickly and silently through the forest, planning to take as little time as necessary away from camp. Finally, she stopped before a relatively secluded part of the stream. Out of habit, Djaq glanced around and listened intently for a moment in order to determine that she was, in fact, alone. Of course, this little area was hers, which was an unspoken understanding between her and the other outlaws. More often than not, Djaq was just another one of the lads, slipping seamlessly into the often difficult existence they etched out in Sherwood Forest. Yet, obviously, lines had to be drawn somewhere. After all, she was decidedly _not_ a boy, despite her proficiency at playing the part.

Slipping out of her grimy clothing, Djaq stepped into the stream, invigorated by the cool, clean water that enveloped her. She briefly wished for the opportunity to bathe properly and launder her clothing, but she did not want to be away for too long. Drawing in a deep breath, she dove beneath the surface of the water, swimming the width of the stream and back before she rose above the surface again. Her hair was growing a bit longer now, and she pushed the dark, dripping strands out of her eyes before returning to shore.

At least feeling somewhat refreshed, Djaq hastily pulled on her clothing and hurried back toward camp, anxious to return to Allan.

As she returned to camp, Djaq frowned when she noticed the others gathered in a loose circle around Allan. Her pace slowed as she watched Tuck kneel beside Allan. The older man dipped his thumb in what looked to be nothing more than a bowl of water. Then, he anointed Allan's forehead as he said, "Through this holy anointing may the Lord in His love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit." Next, Tuck turned each of Allan's hands over, anointing his palms. "May the Lord Who frees you from your sins save you and raise you up."

At first confused, realization suddenly dawned on Djaq. She might not be a Christian, but she understood the significance of this act just as she understood she was _not_ a part of this.

Since joining the outlaws, Djaq had never felt more isolated than she did in this moment. She loved Allan as she loved her brother. She grieved at the thought of losing him just as they all did. Yet right know, she recognized the inevitable chasm that separated her from the other outlaws as she had never had chance to recognize it before. This act segregated her from them, making her feel like an outsider, like an unwanted spectator who had intruded upon something reverent that she wasn't supposed to witness.

Without realizing it, Djaq took a step backward, wishing she had not rushed back to camp. Perhaps it would have spared her this painful awkwardness.

As she prepared to turn, Djaq caught Will's gaze. Once again, he must have read her thoughts in her expression, something Djaq might have found unnerving if she'd had the presence of mind to actually consider it. As it was, she did not have the inclination to concern herself over how Will Scarlet possessed the miraculous ability to know her thoughts.

Tuck concluded his prayers as Will broke away from the solemn group and joined Djaq.

"It was Robin's idea," Will explained in a low voice.

Djaq recalled Robin speaking with Tuck before she'd left camp, and Will continued, "It is called the Last Anointing or the Anointing of the Sick."

"Last …?" Djaq echoed. It bore the kind of finality Djaq could not bear, and, somehow, Will's words stirred her, sparking a surge of anger.

That was it, then? They were giving up, passing Allan over into his God's hands?

Obviously, Djaq had told Robin the night before that she believed Allan would die. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but she'd trusted Robin with those damning words. And, somehow, Robin's request that Tuck perform the Last Anointing struck her as a betrayal of that trust. It felt as if Robin had ripped all control from her grasp, openly admitting that Allan's life was beyond Djaq – that there was no hope left … that she could not save Allan.

Djaq was unprepared for the torrent of emotion that gripped her. For so long, she had masked Saffiya. By assuming her dead brother's identity, she had concealed who she was. But _this_ … this _was_ Saffiya. This was the piece of her that she thought long dead and forgotten.

She glared at Will. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, and her nails bit into her flesh. "I suppose we should set about digging Allan's grave, then? Perhaps we should toss him in and bury him as well," Djaq snapped.

"Djaq," Will began, "you do not understand."

"I understand completely," she returned. "You have decided that Allan is dead – that there is nothing left to hope for."

Will's hand closed around her upper arm. His grip was firm, and Djaq was startled by the uncharacteristic vehemence in Will's voice. "I am the _last_ person who wants to admit there is no hope for Allan." For a long moment, he held her gaze intently. Then, Will sighed as he released her arm. "I'm sorry, Djaq."

Djaq shook her head. Will's words had doused her anger, though she still could not comprehend how Robin could make this decision. "Robin could send for a priest when and _if_ Allan's condition worsens."

"We _know_ it will worsen," Will replied.

Still, Djaq insisted, "Robin _could_ have waited. He could have given me that."

"Djaq … it isn't that simple."

"How could it not be?" Djaq questioned, but when she comprehended Will's apologetic and pained expression, the truth hit her like a physical blow. "Oh," she whispered. How could she have been so naive? "A priest would not come because of me." She always realized that her genuine acceptance was more or less confined to the members of the outlaw camp, but Djaq supposed that she had never really had the chance or the reason to accept that upsetting fact for what it was until now.

"Does it matter?" Will asked, breaking the heavy silence between them. "Just because we believe something different … well, it doesn't change how we feel about _you_, Djaq. It never has. What _they_ think means nothing." When she glanced away, unwilling to meet his gaze, Will's hands unexpectedly cupped her face, gently making her look at him. "It means nothing, Djaq." He paused. "It means nothing to _me_."

Djaq swallowed and nodded even as she backed away from Will's touch, allowing the identity of her dead brother to mask Saffiya once more.

"Robin did what he thought was best," Will continued. "And I know how it must look to you, but this doesn't mean we think Allan is lost. The Anointing of the Sick … it's to give Allan the strength to fight."

"There is more to it than that," Djaq replied. "I may not believe what you believe, but I know that much."

Will hesitated. Finally, he said, "Allan was forgiven. If he …" Will's voice trailed off, and Djaq could see how difficult this was for him.

Saving Will the need to explain something she already understood, Djaq replied, "You have prepared Allan for death."

* * *

**A/N**: I struggled with this chapter. I knew what I wanted to express based on the religious differences between Djaq and the gang, but I found it difficult to put into words. Well, once again, I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!

Many thanks to …

**Marjatta** – Thank you so much! I'm so glad to hear you enjoyed this chapter. I was a little nervous about it because I didn't want it to come across as Much being some kind of doormat who just accepts Robin being a jerk sometimes. I really wanted to show that, in my opinion, Much really understood Robin and why Robin could be the way that he was sometimes. I hated that the show itself made Much seem a little clueless about that until Robin admitted that he couldn't face the memories in the second series episode, "A Good Day to Die." Considering their shared experiences, I just don't buy that Much didn't see that. But again, it's my interpretation of the character. Thanks again!

**HighPriestessOfTheDreamWorld** – Thank you so much! I'm thrilled that you enjoyed my explanation of Much's tolerance and understanding of Robin. As I said in my response to Marjatta's review, I think that Robin was deeply affected by his experiences in the Holy Land, but I also think that Much understands that (despite the show's implication otherwise, since Much didn't realize why Robin didn't want to talk about the Holy Land in "A Good Day to Die"). To have shared what he did with Robin, I don't buy that Much didn't understand or see how the Holy Land changed Robin. Of course, Robin could be a jerk. But I think that a large portion of that was because of the Crusade, and Much is a constant reminder of those awful memories. When he lashes out at Much, he's lashing out at how powerless those memories make him feel. So, yeah, I know I read far too much into things. And I know everyone has their own perception of the characters. But that's my take on it. Again, thank you a million times over. I really appreciate it!

**Wenrom31** – Thank you so much! I'm so happy to hear that you've enjoyed the story thus far. And I'm so glad you liked my take on Robin's and Much's relationship. I went into depth about my perception of that relationship in the previous two review replies. And, of course, I'm glad that you've enjoyed my portrayal of the growing relationship between Will and Djaq, which was, I admit, one of the more difficult aspects of the story for me to capture. Again, thank you so much! I really appreciate it!

**Kizume A.W.** – Thank you so much! Best chapter of the story, huh? That's awesome :-D I was a little unsure about this chapter. For me and my interpretation of Robin's and Much's relationship, it worked, but I was uncertain how other people might react to it. I just didn't want Much to seem like this push over, but I wanted to show that he really understands why Robin behaves the way that he does sometimes. And I agree that the show lacked any serious Much character development. Though, to be honest, I think the show failed to develop a lot of the characters to their full potential. Not that I'm trying to slam the show because, obviously, I enjoyed it enough to watch it. As always, thank you so much again! I really appreciate it!

**gatewatcher** – As always, thank you so much! I really appreciate it! And I totally agree! Much is part of Robin's strength, but, as you said, Robin doesn't really realize it. I don't like to think of Robin as just being a jerk though, you know? There is, in my opinion, a reason for his sometimes hurtful words. Of course, it doesn't excuse his behavior, but I don't think he's a jerk for the sake of being a jerk. And I think Much would be the one to understand that :-D Well, again, thank you!


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: **As a warning, I mention a particularly nasty form of torture in this chapter. There is no detail other than to mention the torture and the boy it was used against, but I realize some people might be sensitive about such situations, so I'm just putting it out there.

As always, thank you for reading and enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 31**

Marian's lips moved. She heard the sound of her own voice, but her responses to Tuck's prayers were spoken out of habit rather than genuine awareness. Numbly, she watched Tuck anoint Allan's forehead and palms with water since holy oil was not exactly an available commodity in the depths of Sherwood Forest.

In fact, the holy oil aside, the entire act itself was merely symbolic in nature. Tuck was neither a priest nor a bishop, which meant that he could not truly absolve a man of his sins in God's name. Before Tuck's impromptu administration of the Last Anointing, Marian had overheard Tuck telling Robin that he was not a priest when the two had conferred briefly over the matter. Robin, however, had appeared uninterested in technicalities. And though the friar had seemed hesitant during his conversation with Robin, he had finally conceded to perform the sacrament.

Some might have even denounced the entire act – symbolic or not – as little more than blasphemy. The traditional sacrament at least demanded priest and crucifix, _oleum infirmorum_¹ and _viaticum_². Marian's ever devout mother would have been appalled were she here to witness this peculiar Last Anointing, but Marian, like Robin and the others, was not terribly concerned by such details. Of course, Marian did not know for certain, but she surmised that Allan was probably dying. Otherwise, she doubted that Robin would have resorted to this spontaneous display of religious deference. Therefore, considering Allan's probable death, all other considerations appeared trivial by comparison. Tuck was the closest Allan was likely to have to a man of God beside his deathbed, and Marian preferred to believe that God was far more understanding of such matters than others, her mother included, would portray Him. She especially had to believe that for Allan, a man who deserved absolution for, if nothing else, his sacrifice on _her_ behalf – a sacrifice he never would've been forced to make had she listened to Robin that night at Knighton Hall.

As Tuck continued, conducting himself as if he _were_ a priest or bishop accustomed to the sacrament despite his earlier reservations, Marian tried desperately to focus on his steady, soothing voice. Yet it was as if Tuck spoke in a foreign tongue, and the very solemnity of the proceeding haunted her and left a hollow where she was sure her heart should beat.

Marian squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as she drew in a slow, deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, her gaze met Robin's. She glanced away quickly, not wishing to think of all the words that remained unsaid between them. Nothing could be said anyway until Allan survived his injuries or died from them. While Allan's fate remained uncertain, the whole camp balanced precariously upon a precipice, waiting. It was all that they could do, incapable of any other action.

While the prayers continued, Marian studied the silent and still body that had once been Allan-a-Dale. She hardly knew Allan at all. In fact, in the prison cell they had shared, she had been hard pressed to even recall his name at first.

Now, she would never forget his name.

She and Allan had shared something horrific within the dungeons of Nottingham. Allan did not know Marian any better than she knew him, but he had tried to save her, however futile the attempt may have been. He had sacrificed his life for her and the choice she had made to remain with her father at Knighton.

Though she did not know him, she would never forget him.

Nor would Marian ever forget the four grimy stone walls and the flickering torchlight that cast ominous shadows over the chamber and its occupants. She would not forget the nauseating stench of mold, rot, and death. She would not forget the damp chill that permeated the room despite the torches and fire. She would not forget the hot irons the Sheriff wielded, nor would she forget each time a fiery red tip seared Allan's flesh. She would not forget the way the rack stretched Allan's body, inexorably attempting to tear flesh and muscle with each pull of the lever. And she would never forget when his shoulder finally ripped from its socket under the strain the rack placed upon his body.

Without thinking, Marian rubbed the palm of her hand on her dress – the same hand that Gisborne had closed around the rack's lever, forcing her to either pull the lever or watch the Sheriff slit Allan's throat. And, for the barest of moments, she had seen Allan's wish clear upon his face. He had wanted to die, appearing almost relieved when the Sheriff had held the knife's blade to his throat. Yet Allan had met her gaze, and, for whatever reason, he had told her to pull the lever.

The bile rose in the back of Marian's throat as she recalled trying to pull the lever on Allan's demand. Despite her attempts, she hadn't been able to until Gisborne's gloved hand tightened over hers, and he had used his strength to force the lever. Then, Allan's shoulder popped. Even now, the recollection made her want to retch.

"Marian," Sir Edward murmured, "are you unwell? You are pale."

Marian shook her head, swallowing hard. She did not wish to worry her father. "I am fine." Yet even as she said it, she took a step backward. "But I should like a moment alone. I will not go far, and I will return soon." She ignored her father's frown and look of concern. He made no motion to stop her, and Marian quickly turned away from the gathering, fearful now that she would, in fact, vomit.

Though Tuck had not yet concluded his prayers, Marian could not stand there any longer. Hastily, she departed the camp, vaguely aware of Djaq standing near the outskirts of the camp.

Marian hurried toward the nearby stream, one of many that snaked through Sherwood Forest. Kneeling in the lush grass before the languid waters, Marian leaned forward, cupped her hands, gathered water, and splashed it upon her face. Still, the cool water did not help. She gagged and braced herself on her hands. Her stomach rebelled, but she had not eaten a proper meal in days, leaving little to purge.

When the fleeting sickness passed, Marian again reached her trembling hands into the stream. She took the water and swished it around in her mouth before spitting it onto the ground, hoping to rid herself of the foul taste.

As Marian leaned forward to gather more water, Robin's voice stopped her. "Here," he said, handing her a small bottle. "Your father said he feared you were ill, and I thought you might appreciate this."

After accepting the bottle from Robin, Marian looked up at him. "How long were you there?"

"Long enough to know your father was right."

Perhaps any other time, she would have been humiliated. Now, she could not summon the energy over something that ultimately seemed so trivial, all things considered. So, Marian simply asked, "What is this?"

"Djaq makes it," Robin replied. "Take a sip, rinse, and spit it out," he instructed.

Marian removed the stopper, and she smelled the unmistakable fragrance of rosemary. She did as Robin said, thankful that Djaq's concoction cleansed her mouth of the bitter taste water alone failed to eliminate.

When she replaced the stopper, Marian handed the bottle back to Robin and said, "I hate to think what you would smell like were it not for Djaq."

"I will take that as a 'thank you,'" Robin returned.

Marian nearly smiled, but the impulse was fleeting and quickly crushed by the sobering weight of reality. Standing, Marian replied, "We should return to camp. My father will worry."

At first, Robin did not respond. Then, after a pause, he said, "Your father worries more that he does not know what to say to comfort you."

"I am fine," Marian said quickly. She knew, of course, that Robin would not believe such an apparent lie. Still, she left their conversation at that, and she turned, prepared to return to camp when Robin reached out and took her hand, stopping her. Marian squeezed her eyes shut, resisting the momentary urge to simply turn, bury herself in Robin's embrace, and cry. But she had seen the black expression that had darkened his face the entire morning, and Marian realized that Robin was wrestling with his own demons. Though she may not know or understand those demons, Marian refused to burden Robin with hers.

"Walk with me," Robin said.

"We should return to camp," Marian pointed out.

"Yesterday," Robin began, "you were eager to avoid camp. So today, I think you can spare me a little of your time and walk."

Marian noted something strange about Robin's tone, though she could not determine what it was exactly. Yet, whatever it was, it compelled her to comply with Robin's request without further argument.

Robin released her hand, and he and Marian walked in silence, following the path of the stream. They walked further than Marian imagined they would, prompting her to finally ask, "Do you have some destination in mind? If not, we really ought to turn back."

Robin did not respond, but shortly after Marian spoke he stopped before a smooth rock shelf that overlooked the stream. For a long while, Robin said nothing as he stared out over the stream and the forest beyond.

Finally, when the silence stretched for too long, Marian asked, "Why did you bring me here?"

Again, Robin remained quiet. After another stretch of silence, he said, "I come here to be alone."

Confused by Robin's intent, Marian waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. She looked around the area. There was nothing remarkable about it – nothing that distinguished it from any other place in Sherwood Forest, though Marian did notice a rather large and neat pile of stones near the rock shelf. "And you pitch stones?" she questioned as she nodded toward the pile stones, which could have only been gathered and placed there by someone.

"Much," Robin murmured.

"Excuse me?"

"Much," Robin repeated. "He knows that I come here, and he always makes certain there are stones to throw. He probably assumes I don't notice because I never thank him … for anything that he does."

Marian frowned. She was moved by Much's simple gesture of replenishing the stones by the rock shelf, but she was uncertain what Robin's admission was meant to imply. She wondered if even Robin knew, merely talking to fill the void. She didn't imagine that Robin brought her here to talk about Much. Still, Robin was talking, so Marian said, "You believe you take him for granted."

"I don't believe," Robin replied. "I know."

"It seems an easy remedy," Marian pointed out.

"You would think so," Robin said.

Marian raised an eyebrow. "Why would it not be easy to show gratitude, even on occasion?" Of course, Marian was well aware that the man she loved had his faults. At times, his displays of arrogance knew no limits, but she had never known him to be so completely incapable of expressing appreciation where it was deserved. Yet Robin seemed to be expressing that very incapacity where Much was concerned.

Again, Marian wondered at the purpose behind this spontaneous excursion and strange conversation. Obviously, Robin had something he wanted to say to her, but he was taking a very lengthy route to that point, which was unlike him. But then, Marian surmised, everyone was out of sorts, lost in worry, grief, and guilt; Robin was no different.

"Robin?" Marian prodded when he failed to answer her question.

Robin never met her gaze but continued to look out over the forest. "Much has seen me at my darkest. He has seen me as I would not want anyone to see me, least of all you, Marian."

"And you fault him for that?" Marian asked incredulously.

"I never said it was right," Robin returned. "I wish it were different." He paused. "I love Much as a brother and as a friend. He has been with me through everything, but I cannot forget what that means."

"And what does it mean?"

"It means that he has seen me as I would not even want to see myself."

"And you cannot forgive him that?" Marian questioned as she desperately tried to piece together this puzzle Robin had laid out before her. Ultimately, however, she realized it was something she could never truly understand. She doubted Robin even understood it.

"I cannot _forget_," Robin replied.

"Isn't that the same as not being able to forgive?"

"I did not bring you here to talk about Much."

That was the end of it, then. When faced with a question he did not truly want to answer or confronted with a conversation he no longer wished to be a part of, Robin retreated and there was little hope of deterring that retreat. If he chose not to speak of something, no amount of prodding was going to change his mind.

"I figured that," Marian said. "But _you_ were the one who started talking about Much."

Avoiding her accurate observation, Robin replied, "Your father told me what happened. He said that the both of you were made to witness Allan's torture."

"Yes," Marian replied. Her voice was a hoarse whisper, and she had no desire to relate the details of that experience with Robin.

Yet, surprisingly, he did not ask her to explain what happened, as she imagined he would. Instead, Robin said, "In the Holy Land, I witnessed horrors that cannot be described by words." He shook his head. "There are no words to describe some of the things I saw. Some of those men could have made the Sheriff look like a saint by comparison." Robin faced Marian then, his eyes meeting hers. "And maybe there are not words for it, but it is here," Robin explained as he tapped his temple with his index finger, "and I can never forget it. I dream of it." He sighed, turning away from her again as he raked a hand through his hair. "Sometimes, I do not even see this forest but desert sands. I feel the heat of that inferno. I hear the vultures, and I smell the death. I see battlefields strewn with corpses, and I see the men I have killed."

Marian could see how Robin struggled with admitting these things to her. It was apparent in the way he stood so rigid, his hands curled tightly into fists at his sides. Even his voice sounded strained. But worse than that, Marian did not know how to respond to his awful admission. For so long, she had wished he would share something – _anything_ – with her. Now, he was, and she did not know how to react.

However, Robin saved her the trouble of replying as he proceeded, "Knights raped women and slit the throats of children. Some tortured and mutilated for sport." He paused. "I remember there was a boy, hardly more than thirteen summers. He was a squire, and the knight he served was accused of betraying the Crusaders to the Saracens. Supposedly the boy, Hugh, relayed messages between the knight and his Saracen contact. Somehow, the knight must have realized he'd been discovered. He killed himself rather than face arrest and punishment. But his squire … Hugh swore he never knew. His messages were relayed through a brothel, and Hugh innocently assumed his master was corresponding with a woman. But punishments are dealt to make examples, and since the knight was dead, his punishment fell to the boy."

When Robin fell silent, Marian concluded, "They … tortured the poor boy."

"The knight was English," Robin began as if Marian had never spoken a word, "so the issue of the squire's punishment fell to King Richard. Some say both the boy and the knight were pawns in a struggle to prove power and to prove King Richard weak. Many of those men regard mercy as nothing more than a weakness to be exploited, leaving King Richard in a difficult position."

"But King Richard could not have allowed such a terrible fate to befall an innocent boy," Marian protested. She tried but could not accept what Robin was implying. King Richard was a good man and a just king. He could never have allowed the boy's torture for a crime he did not knowingly commit. Men like Prince John or the Sheriff would have permitted it, but not King Richard. It was inconceivable.

"The King went against his advisors and only ordered Hugh publicly whipped to satisfy those who wanted blood. Afterward, the King asked that I discreetly organize Hugh's release. It was little more than organizing an escape considering all the men who had wanted King Richard to make an example of the squire. The whipping, for many of them, was not sufficient punishment for treason." Robin closed his eyes, expelling a bitter sigh. "Well, apparently, I was not discreet enough. I planned Hugh's release for the earliest hours of morning, just before daybreak. I led the boy out alone, assuming that only the two of us would draw far less attention. I was correct about that, of course. Those that were awake and those that were on guard paid us no attention. I had planned to take him to the nearest port city, which was under Crusader command. But someone knew, and we were ambushed. The men were hooded and masked, but I knew they were Crusaders – men who were dissatisfied with King Richard's decision regarding Hugh. And I could not help the boy. I could only watch as they tortured him." Robin paused, clearly struggling with whether or not to continue. At last, he said, "They flayed him. To them, the boy was nothing more than sport. When they finally tired of skinning him, they bound his hands with rope and tied him to a small cart drawn by one of their horses. Then, they dragged him through the desert. The next morning, Hugh's body was found on the outskirts of the encampment. They had carved the word 'justice' into his forehead."

Marian stood silent, a hand raised to her mouth as she stared at Robin, horrified by his admission of a sadistic brutality she could not even fathom.

"I have never told anyone that, not even Much," Robin quietly admitted. "It was assumed that we were attacked, and the boy was taken. No one knows that I actually watched his torture." When Robin faced her again, Marian saw the pain in his eyes; she saw the toll it had taken on him to relive what he had been forced to witness that day. "The point is I know how you feel. I know that kind of helplessness. And I know how it can devour you."

"How do you live with it?" Marian whispered.

"I don't," Robin replied. "That is why Much collects stones and I spend the better part of many nights just pitching them into the water." After a long moment, Robin added, "We should return to camp."

Mutely, Marian nodded, but as Robin made to walk by her, she reached out and grasped his hand. He stopped, turning, and, without thinking, Marian closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms about his waist as she rested her head against his chest.

Robin was not entirely himself; none of them were. Still, he had confided in her, and she expressed by touch what she could not relate in words.

Inexplicably, Robin's confession had alleviated the heavy burden she carried within her heart. Marian could not explain it, nor could she pretend to understand it. Even though her father had stood by her side during Allan's torture, Robin had somehow managed to make her feel less alone, and less … lost.

* * *

1. _oleum infirmorum_ - Oil of the Sick; olive oil blessed by the bishop during Holy Week.

2. _viaticum _- The Holy Communion given to a dying person; Latin for 'something for the journey.'

**A/N:** Believe it or not, some people actually did practice dental hygiene in the Middle Ages ... sort of. Well, anyway, I have read that people cleaned their teeth by rubbing them with a cloth. Mixtures of herbs or abrasives were also used including the ashes of burnt rosemary. That's where the rosemary reference comes from. So, if it's a stretch that they would use a rinse of sorts, so be it. Much of the show was a stretch on historical accuracy, and I never make any serious claims to historical accuracy in my work :-D

Also, I apologize if everyone seems out of sorts, but this is merely my interpretation of how the characters would be handling such a situation. Aside from that, I've had a cold and been on cold medicine for the past few days, and cold medicine makes me a bit out there. So while it may help cure writer's block, I can't vouch for the quality of said writing … SO if anything's too weird, we'll just blame it on Advil Cold and Sinus :-D

Many thanks to …

**Kizume A.W.** – Thank you so much! You've a good eye to catch that typo :-D I'm glad you enjoyed the bit with Djaq. I was so worried that it wouldn't come across the way I wanted it to come across. So again, thank you! I really appreciate it!

**rohwyn** – Thank you so much! I truly appreciate your kind words! I take it as the highest compliment that I've been able to make Robin and Marian more understandable/relatable/sympathetic (perhaps these aren't the right words) to someone who is not necessarily a fan of either one. That honestly means a great deal to me, so thank you :-D And I'm so happy to hear that you're enjoying the Allan/Djaq/Will part of the story. Admittedly, it has been one of my favorite parts (though most difficult parts) to write because I love the dynamic between the three of them. Again, thank you! I truly appreciate it!

**HighPriestessOfTheDreamWorld** – As always, thank you so very much for your kind words. As I adore your story and your portrayal of Will and Djaq, I am always so thrilled to hear that you've enjoyed my portrayal of the characters, especially Djaq, in this chapter. I really knew what I wanted to get across with the religious differences, but I was so worried that it wouldn't come out right. Things usually play out in my head so much better than they do on paper, lol. Once again, thank you!!

**gatewatcher** … As always, thank you so much! I think Djaq will come to terms with Robin's decision :-D And, as for Allan, well … I know I'm horrible to keep Allan's fate hanging like this, but I do believe the question of his survival should be answered shortly – probably not in the next chapter, at least. But it's coming soon, I promise!


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

_Following Tuck's administration of the Last Anointing, the four unlikely ex-mercenaries collected their few belongings and prepared their departure. Few words were exchanged, and the entire farewell was a decidedly awkward and subdued affair._

_Robin gave them permission to take the horses, despite Much's protests. If anyone else possessed misgivings about Robin's surprising generosity, they did not voice them. Then, Robin briefly advised David of the quickest route through Sherwood Forest and wished David and the others a safe journey._

_As David, Sarah, Wat, and Tuck took their leave, Sir Edward approached Robin. Without preamble, the older man simply stated, "Marian is unwell."_

_Naturally, Robin had noted Marian's hasty departure, much as he noted everything that occurred around him with the keen eye of a man accustomed to battle where the smallest detail, however insignificant it might appear, could be the difference between survival and death. Though instinct always told him to follow Marian, he had, for once, checked that impulse. He trusted that she would not wander far, and he assumed that she merely needed a moment alone with her thoughts._

"_She said that she would return shortly," Edward continued when Robin did not immediately respond. "But … I am worried for her." He sighed, looking pale, tired, and weary. In fact, he looked as if the past few days had aged him further. "I never wanted this for my daughter. I expected so many things for her, but never this."_

"_I will see to Marian," Robin offered. He was not entirely certain what Sir Edward was asking of him, so he provided the only solution that readily came to mind. Marian would not likely appreciate the intrusion, but Robin was more than willing to overlook that slight complication._

"_She is my daughter," Edward murmured. "And I do not even know what to say to her." He paused, shaking his head. "They made us watch, you know – the Sheriff and Gisborne. Your friend, Allan, was laid out upon a device the Sheriff called the rack. Each time the lever was pulled, it stretched his limbs further. At one point, the Sheriff told Marian to make a choice. She had either to pull the lever or watch the Sheriff slit Allan's throat."_

_Robin closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against a fresh wave of rage over the Sheriff's seemingly limitless capacity for cruelty. _Damn it. _He had not known. _

"_Allan told her to pull the lever," Edward explained quietly. "It was that pull that tore the man's shoulder." _

"_I had no idea." Robin was at a loss to say anything else._

"_I did not expect Marian would tell you that," Edward replied. "But I do not know what to say to her." The older man sounded lost, and he looked utterly defeated. "She is _my_ daughter, and it is not easy for me to ask you to help her because I cannot. I fear I cannot say what it is she needs to hear."_

_Robin understood the significance of Edward's pained confession. Of course it was speculation on Robin's part, but he did not imagine that Sir Edward had viewed him favorably when he all but deserted Marian and sailed with King Richard. And that was putting it mildly. More likely, Edward hated him for leaving Marian – for hurting his daughter. Therefore, by offering to trust Robin in his stead, he was professing a renewed faith in Robin and his ability to care for Marian. Unfortunately, it was not that easy. He could not simply make this go away with a few well rehearsed words, and he could not, in good conscience, take Sir Edward's faith in him without warning the man of that very fact._

"_I will try," Robin finally said. Then, he added, "But I have already told Marian she cannot hold herself accountable for the Sheriff's actions."_

"_You have _told_ her," Edward pointed out. "You have _told_ her what she should or should not feel. _You_, more so than anyone, should realize that Marian cannot be _told_ anything. She is no less stubborn than you, and the both of you will persist in your beliefs despite what anyone else simply _tells_ you." Edward stared intently at Robin, his earlier dejection replaced by vehemence. "Before you left, you and Marian always knew how to talk to one another. Has that changed so much in five years?"_

_Robin glanced away from Edward's scrutiny, unnerved by the man's question. _

"_She is vulnerable right now, and vulnerability has never sat well with my daughter – much as I assume it does not sit well with you." After a short pause, Edward repeated, "She is vulnerable, Robin. Can you not, for once, show that you are as well?"_

So he had.

Of course, it was easier for Robin to simply tell rather than actually relate. After five years of war, he sometimes forgot that there was more to communication than giving or receiving commands.

Sir Edward had helped remind him of that fact.

Robin's arms tightened around Marian; his lips grazed her hair. Maybe she did not respond vocally, but Robin sensed he'd somehow said what it was she needed to hear. Naturally, the guilt and the grief would not miraculously disappear. But sometimes the greatest burden to bear was the weight of feeling alone and suffering in isolation with the shadows of sorrow and despair. By sharing his own experience, Robin believed he'd managed to alleviate that burden for Marian. At the very least, he showed her that she was not alone.

He had known that same helplessness. He had watched a boy little more than thirteen summers scream, cry, and beg. The boy had screamed until he could not scream any longer, his voice ruined from the bloodcurdling cries of agony. Every terrible detail was etched into Robin's memory as if a master sculptor had chiseled the imprint of that abominable morning into his mind.

The squire's torture was only one of many atrocities he'd witnessed, and, like the boy's flaying, each one was burned into his memory with startling clarity. Despite returning to England, the vivid nightmares persisted – nightmares that sometimes plagued him while he was awake. It left Robin to realize that a part of him never truly left the Holy Land. The memories of all that he had seen and all that he had done would haunt him until the end of his days, he knew. Not only that, but it was a weakness that would forever infect him like a disease; some might even call it madness.

Of course, he was _not_ crazy; he knew that. Still, it was something he'd never wanted to openly admit, least of all to Marian. He never wanted Marian to understand how greatly his experiences had affected him. Therefore, he _should_ have been appalled by what he had confessed to Marian.

Instead, strangely, it felt like an absolution. Obviously, Robin could never forget. That was impossible. Even now, after reliving Hugh's torture in words, Robin felt the familiar tightness in his chest. His breathing became labored as he forced down the tide of panic that momentarily threatened to overwhelm him. He hated that memories alone could affect him this way. It was something with which he knew he would always struggle, though returning to England had, at least, clearly tipped that ongoing battle in his favor.

Now, Marian knew of that continuous internal conflict that afflicted him. And, somehow, realizing that he no longer needed to conceal that part of himself from her made it easier. He subdued the mounting dread with far less effort than usual.

Marian slowly lifted her head from his chest then, though her arms remained around him. Her gaze met his. "We really should return to camp," she said, but her words lacked conviction. Robin knew that she, like him, was reluctant to abandon this small respite from the sorrow that suffocated the camp.

"We should," Robin replied. He raised one hand, his fingers twining gently, almost reverently, through her hair as he tilted her head back further.

"The others will wonder where we've gone," Marian whispered. Yet her eyes closed, and her lips parted slightly, inviting him despite her half-hearted insistence that they return.

"Maybe," Robin murmured before his mouth met hers.

Marian responded with the same urgent desperation that compelled him to kiss her when, in good conscience, he _should_ have been escorting her back to the camp. They were alone, in relative sanctuary, and nothing was right about this except that they needed each other.

That very reality was why, reluctantly, Robin pulled back. After all they'd recently endured and all that yet awaited them, it would be far too easy to lose themselves in this moment and find comfort where they could, forgetting about the world around them if only for a little while.

"We need to go back," Robin said.

Marian nodded, glancing away from him. "I know," she whispered.

* * *

Robin and Marian walked in silence, and when they reached the camp, Marian immediately left his side and joined her father in order to assure him that she was all right. Robin watched her and Sir Edward for a moment before he approached Djaq, who was in the process of slowly removing Allan's soiled bandages in order to rewrap his wounds with clean ones. Meanwhile, Will sat close by, absently carving a block of wood. Despite the pile of wood shavings at his feet, the block still appeared relatively shapeless, and Robin suspected Will was simply carving for the sake of keeping occupied rather than with the intention of creating anything.

But it was not Will with whom Robin needed to speak.

Just as Robin had noticed Marian's abrupt departure, he also noted Djaq's earlier reaction to the Last Anointing. Djaq did not acknowledge his presence, and Robin said quietly, "Will, could you leave us for a moment?"

Djaq never even looked up from her work, her attention devoted solely to Allan. Will lowered the knife and wood as he glanced between Robin and Djaq. Slowly, Will stood, but before he left, he looked at Djaq. "Djaq?" he asked softly. Will's question explicitly informed Robin that Djaq was, in fact, angry with him. Otherwise, Robin doubted that Will would have hesitated to comply with such a simple request.

"It is fine, Will," Djaq replied. "Please ask Much to make some broth for Allan."

When Will departed, leaving him and Djaq alone, Robin studied Djaq, waiting to see if she would speak to him. When she did not, he said, "I did not intend to upset you."

"I was angry, not upset," Djaq said. "But it was irrational. You did what you thought was right."

Still, she refused to look at him. After a stretch of silence, she added, "But you believe it is over."

Robin shook his head. "No," he replied as he suddenly understood now why his decision so deeply affected Djaq. "I would not trust Allan with anyone but you, Djaq. If no one else can save him, you can."

"I told you last night that I believed Allan would die."

She thought he had betrayed her trust. Robin briefly closed his eyes. It had never been his intention to imply that he'd used her dire prognosis to provide Allan with the closest to divine absolution as he was likely to receive.

"I did not base my decision on that," Robin said. That was the truth, though he doubted whether or not he could convince Djaq of that fact. Regardless of what Djaq admitted to him the previous night, he'd contemplated asking Tuck to perform the Last Anointing since the moment David of Doncaster and John had carefully lowered Allan's limp body to the very blanket upon which he now laid. In Robin's mind, Allan deserved no less, and Tuck, though not a priest, was an easy solution to offering the administration of the sacrament.

Finally, Djaq sighed and met Robin's gaze. "It does not matter," she said. Of course, Robin suspected she was lying merely because arguing was not the wisest course of action, all things considered. "I admit that, at first, I was angry, but what matters now is Allan."

"Has there been any change?" Robin asked. Even as the question slipped passed his lips, he realized how foolish it sounded.

"He is warm," Djaq admitted. "He has contracted a fever."

The fever was, naturally, the inevitable outcome to Allan's injuries. Despite comprehending that, it did not make Djaq's statement any easier to swallow.

While Robin attempted to digest that declaration, Djaq continued, "If Allan stands even the smallest chance of fighting the fever, I must remove the dead skin. It is feeding the infection." She paused, glancing down at Allan before looking at Robin once more. "It is an agonizing process that _will_ wake him. But for all the pain he will suffer, I must tell you that there is little hope the method will work. Perhaps if I had tended his wounds immediately, it would be different."

"Is there another way?" Robin asked.

Robin did not expect a positive response. Therefore, it surprised him when Djaq responded, "Yes."

When Djaq did not immediately elaborate, Robin suspected that her alternative method was highly unorthodox. "Djaq?" he prompted when she held her silence.

"By this point, Allan is beyond conventional means," Djaq replied. She hesitated but continued, "My father made preliminary observations before his death about the benefits of ... maggots."

Robin's eyebrows raised in a moment of utter disbelief and genuine disgust. "Maggots?" he repeated.

"In war," Djaq began, "many injured soldiers are left for a day or more with open wounds. It takes time to scour the battlefields, searching for survivors. During that time, open wounds can often become infested with maggots, who primarily feed from dead flesh."

"Yes," Robin said as he unwillingly recalled those particularly revolting memories from his time in the Holy Land.

"Well, my father documented several instances where the men whose wounds were infested fared far better than those men who had their wounds cleaned and dressed prior to infestation."

Robin's gaze shifted between Allan and Djaq before he finally said, "If I understand this, you are suggesting that we search the forest for an animal carcass, collect the maggots, and then put them on Allan's wounds."

"Is it any more horrible than leeches?"

"Yes, slightly," Robin returned, though he certainly had no fondness for leeches either. Robin sighed, trying to digest the fact that they were contemplating putting _maggots_ on Allan. It seemed completely unnatural, but he trusted Djaq and her knowledge as a physician. Still, Robin felt compelled to ask, "Is there any chance this could make Allan worse?"

After a moment of thought, Djaq replied, "My father's observations were only preliminary. It is, mostly, an untested practice, and it is, admittedly, extreme. I would not even consider it if Allan's condition was not beyond normal remedies. His skin is badly damaged, and that is where the infection enters his body. But to answer your question, I do not believe it could worsen Allan's condition."

Robin nodded as he silently considered Djaq's words. Finally, he said, "If you think it is best for Allan then do it."

He could not predict how the others might react to Djaq's unusual treatment. Yet, ultimately, Robin knew each and every one of them respected Djaq and her knowledge. No matter how repulsive the treatment, if she believed this was necessary, no one was likely to challenge it.

Maybe no one said it aloud, but Robin knew each of the outlaws felt the same.

If Djaq could not save Allan, no one could.

* * *

**A/N:** Please remember that I make no serious claims to historical and/or medical accuracy. Maggot Debridement Therapy (MDT) is the medical use of live maggots (fly larvae) for treating non-healing wounds. Maggots clean the wounds by dissolving dead and infected tissue; they disinfect the wound; they speed the rate of healing. Maggots have been known for centuries to help heal wounds. Military surgeons noted that soldiers whose wounds became infested with maggots had better outcomes than those not infested. The flies used most often for the purpose of maggot therapy are "blow flies" (Calliphoridae); and the species most commonly used is Phaenicia sericata, the green blow fly. MDT is used today in certain situations with disinfected, medical grade maggots. Whether or not the practice of using maggots to heal wounds would have been used in Medieval England, I have no idea. Again, I only research so much, and I never make any serious claims to historical accuracy.


End file.
